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One Of A Million Prodigal Sons

He treats cocaine like a piece of ass

and love like a McDonald’s wrapper.

Shoving aside all knowing

pushing his shopping cart full of frustrated wishes

across the blacktop parking lot

in a headache heartache drama

frowning aerobically

lashing out at the damned hot air

bringing to bear an anger so seething

that it burns his hands

and he screams at sleeping demons.

He feels as if a prisoner in a filthy mansion

knowing all along that the door is wide open

you just have to pay the fee

but he jealously guards his money

it’s his soul after all

don’t you know.

His liver slowly dies a prolonged moan

his skin weeps his eyes narrow toward blindness

his knees cannot touch the ground

and his hands shake with sugar longing.

In a desperate search for manna

he steals the easy money

and begs and begs and begs

so humbled so well mannered

he will save the bald talk for the rush times

when all is fine heavenly

and he can say what he wants

fuck you I’m flyin.

And so forth…

 

I can’t help him

I stand at the sideline and watch

as the sublime angel becomes a sick monster

and the laughter descends from the upper deck

as he slowly dies a living death.

I flip a coin, wondering what his chances are

but he snatches it in mid air

and runs away laughing or crying

I can’t tell which.

 

 

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