Saturday, November 5, 2016

Malady of the Dying: Poetic Song

Quick! where's my hand? It is hard to understand.
It is hard to understand that I cannot feel my hand.
Oh, what's more, I cannot feel the floor!
I cannot feel the floor; that is what I'm shouting for
Not my hand or the floor well my feet ac-tual-ly
Not my feet, not my hand and I still don't understand
What a mystery to me that I have such misery
In the garden at the bottom of my ramp!

Wait it's too late! I did not just try to skate!
I did not just try to skate around the words you just spake!
What? I did not run; I only walked with the gun.
I only walked with the gun, and I feel like I'm undone
I did not skate what you spake I did not run with a gun!
I repeat in great debate I did not run. I did not skate
What perplexity I see in this world of calumny
In the garden at the bottom of my ramp!

In the garden at my Ramp, that is where my mind will camp
That is where my mind will camp as I wait there verklempt
Pain and a stain, that is what surrounds this spot
That is what surrounds the spot, a little dot on my heart
The dot on my heart as I lay here verklempt
Verklempt that I am with the dot on my heart
A bullet pushed in me though I walked cautiously
To the Garden where I'm dying at the bottom of my ramp

Now my head and my legs, I cannot feel them I dread
I cannot feel them I dread. I know that now I'm dead.
My wife, she is screaming! She will talk no more to me.
She's not talking more to me just hugging my limp body.
She's not talking more to me, just hugging and crying
Just hugging and crying--a big hole in me I see!
I hope this is a dream! I'm not fond of mysteries.
In the garden lay my corpse as I float up from the bottom of my ramp

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