Death Without Nice Pedigree
 

The cheap thrill
of a marble fountain

its current
a rewinding tape

calcified
old nurse's hats

and calculating
visitors

painted in
a cold museum

taking tickets
at the door.

I wanted to take you
somewhere else

where flocking
on a Christmas card

is not the only
warmth you know.

Past drive-thru’s
of a thunderstorm

where pupils
are a fuzzy peach

with juice
inside their batteries

past waiting graves
and moments lost.

Life by injection
of suffer’s flame

craving a
river's lullaby.

Pumped-in blue sky
Demerol

death without
nice pedigree.

Evil arch
and anvil crush

of caking
baking

apathy.


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(C) Copyright  1999
Janet I. Buck
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