A Shame In Pitch By Foxwitz Chamberlain
The unregenerate disease of brainless laughter paralyze our unexplained reasons,
Is it that our evacuated characters are economic emotions
Or is it our emotions that are precinct population of peevish entrances?
We mosey towards pissholes in the exalted gloss of our passive and variegated minutes And we still nurse shrunken hours!
Usually we are rather halfway across everything
Now we snore as we breathe the directions of our rattling grades of undigested peace, Not nearly
And not exactly forged
But still discerned and abandoned.
It is the length of our unbuttoned regal
Showing the crawling thinness of our throbbing anatomy!
Who would come and fasten our helmets?
Who would we call on to become our sensibility?
Usually we know these things
But now, we’re bidding for cheap prices for our blitzed organs!
Yet, there is no favored transplant here
But a recall of an obliged independence that lacks the currencies of its knees As it was dragged on its knees
Across the land that held onto its mattress!
Oh shame, now then, what?
Do we need another independence from the natives Who have colonized their own treasury
And whose nativity is alien to their own horrible souls?
I’m just asking.