Sunday, December 6, 2009

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Footprints show the way of the path well traveled
Trying not to think, I drown in pools of pleasure
Circling beneath reality with fragments of a vacation pamphlet in my hand
The flume was always a favorite
I stop to eat a bit with family
Not wanting to admit what I just swallowed, bulimia sets in
I throw up without a thought and drive the strip looking for a fix
Trading the past for present and the present for my future
My orgasm covers the streets
I raise the flag for Christmas
A soldier looks forward to a home cooked meal.
A shower of steel wool scrapes away the dirt and oily finger prints
I am clean. Fresh
The smell of children fills the air as I pass through the hall
I open the door and return to the city, drenched with sweat and hate
The clothes suck to my body and suffocate
Thirsty for life
I wander next to the monogamy of my pilgrimage
Hoping to see a glimpse of God along the way

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