Somehow I doubt it [poem]

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Did you find a measure of space in the kinks —
some ardent pasture where the stink of
untruthness doesn’t breathe its wasted
jinxed and messed-up methadone madness?

Somehow I doubt it

Can you see by the trail of slime in the wake
of the thousandth time you pulled the wool
over naive eyes that everything has
consequences even all your denying?

Somehow I doubt it

Did you know that temptation’s pool has a rule
which has no wet or warm or coldness
only deeply darkly soulless numb
and oh so fumbling dumbling neverrestness?

Somehow I doubt it

Have you ever loved without the falsely made
and loathsome background dream parade of
empty words and hypocritic hope
which make a wrinkled joke in writhing jerkdom?

Somehow I doubt it

Will you learn from all your selves (such self-ish-ness)
that if those parts cannot be glued
then paradoxic toxic wasteful
tasteless art will blastly fart from every groove?

Somehow I doubt it

Will I ever discover the secret strain
which shelters hearts from acid rain
and takes the seed of flowers’ bloom
to sensual scently unkilled lovefilled rooms?

Somehow I doubt it

© 2011, Alan Morrison

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