Written by m ennenbach

five too many

of the four hells
birth:childhood:adult:death
none trickles with fear
quite as adeptly
as the realization
space is not
around us
but consumes us
from within

mulberries
fresh
with writhing maggots
hang fat
on the dessicated branch
of truth

yet the kid
plays his guitar
on the radio
with no concept
of the weeping mother
with tombstone eyes
staring into eternity
on the ten o’clock news

four hells seems like
five too many

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