Do Over
Laureate
Atticus
I wasn’t ready.
Not fair.
Do Over?
Thrust into this world with a push in the back,
can you picture that? It makes me laugh, so trapped,
living in the land of opportunity, but everything
has opportunities , doesn’t mean you can
achieve them, like so many things, we find false
advertisements and stray answers, joke about them
to our friends…
Hilary Clinton for President! That’s a real misleader…
Get it? Miss Leader?
wait for laughter…
I'd like a second chance
at second chances-
I'm tired of advancing further
in retreat.
let those syringes sip nectar
back from my fractured vanity,
while the snow falls across a mirror
that's been trying to show a movie of myself
for the last 2 years of heat
-I'll stop holding my nose
and plunge into the cold;
unwrap the present's closing rope
with writs giggling
in blush ridden cheeks-
can I get another chance
at another chance to breathe?
Drink away the world, they say I’m killing my liver,
or is it living my deader, who cares, making
cents is too much work
.. one more chance to help myself,
and I'd stop being so selfish;
with another one
on top of two you've given,
I could maybe recreate the day
if maybe you could stop the clock
that ticks by the hour
our time bombs have been born to sit in.
Lackluster sound bites portrayed through visions,
and mistaken images relayed through
incisions, I’m crippled, so much harder to go
uphill in a wheelchair, who the hell invented
gravity…idiot
I'd re-do the use of you if I were you
to do as I so choose-
because you can't what I can
a new...
Poof, watch me disappear in a cloud of fake
smoke, my blood bubbling from the heat
of the moment, sauté my skin in the finest
oils, nothing a warm shower can’t wash off,
time is an allusion, while hope is disillusioned,
drop the act, watch the stone engrave itself, forever
imprinted with its attempted suicide, but
can that pebble retrace it's path?
can it undo the after-math of hopscotch gone awry,
when 9 is no longer a cloud to catch-
and 11 steps I never wanted to walk
compress against the glass eyed sidewalk?
20 playground squares
shimmer as the sun spit shines slate face smiles
into windows of miss-opportunity-
that grin until the birdie smiles back mid-air;
and that chalk drawn playing field
kneels to spill its heart around building
tears.
The flask, fourth filled with destiny as fresh
air seals the top…
can you miss-fire
Mrs. and Mr. teacher
oh teacher of blind believe?
on the signs that says "I'm a psychopath"
can you finger paint the blood stains
so that they can read "school zone"
without eyes
wilting in their holes along the drive
in a Mercedes Benz with a 5 star crash rating
and curtain side air bags
finding a gap to snap their umbilical cords,
as children rain from car seats
into the black baggies they used to have
sleep overs in-
only a little colder,
and without the kiss goodnight
from anything other than a shotgun?
and as the atrium Columns Bine
into one concrete lynching,
can you un-light those smoking barrels
... their second hand smoke has killed enough
wouldn't you say so?
wouldn't you say it's time to climb off your pedestal,
or crucifix, whatever
-to walk across the moat around every
child's knees to intervene?
-or is blood too loosely condensed for illusion
to saunter through!?
Summarize the summary until only doubt remains,
this artifact we call home, risen upwards to cast
shadows over lower classes, and whilst
nature turn’s it’s back and blows
disasters over her shoulder, we hide ourselves
in our fears, would a loving hug
to fellow countries
contribute to global warming?
I don't think you can re-do
the things that I have half a
half-assed notion
as to try improving-
so wear your X
and I'll be strung up from an O:
a new martyr for the world to hold
without the theatrical
bullshit
-I'll re-do the whole thing
without just halos and old hymns.
Insanity, pledge my allegiance to cloth that
never wrinkles or fades,
my mother would love the secret…
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