thirty-three levels if there are three
performance comes not often,
trailing in the night with light
marking the way of discomfort,
leveling the game, we play on
nerves of steel fall off the helmet,
tears rolls down youthful cheeks
honor relies on all the showgirls,
a mellow tune flows down halls
like the smell of rotten fish
we bundle ourselves up in thoughts
hoping to wake up tomorrow,
atoms rearranged by atoms leave
us will molecules rather unstable,
we learn more tricks than a viper
spitting out its bad tasting thoughts,
we are not chairmen of the board
nor are we the rank and file....
we are those who have listened to
the words so many times, we know
them all by heart... we are the wish
of death that arrives at midnight.
June 9, 2024
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