an invisible hand wraps around my throat
like a kentucky gag order
pours molten lead down my gullet
keeping the information inside
i ride westward leaving the city in ruin behind me
but i can't really talk about it
i'd be tied up in years of litigation
and who has the time or patience for that?
the fingers of my fractured sense of accomplishment
and weeds from the overgrown, grown-over garden of my shame
choke like a roadblock man-hunt
hunting for the man i should have been
the man, perhaps, i still could be?
we'll see
Monday, January 11, 2010
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