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Silent Killer

November is Pancreatic Cancer Awareness Month
Amid the hordes of seekers with their worn out faces and torn down spaces, I look for us to smile like the moon, howling down on the rest, gangs of madmen and whores frowning a desperation like executioners making love to lethal injections, death’s liquid pill boiling in the needle, staring down upon me, staring down.

Tell me, God, why the sour expression? Have my prayers made an impression? The pleas in which I seek affection are the only prayers I know. Those that seek destruction,
scrape the fetid edge nearer the wrist, are winter’s blade offering up the dead. It stretches over me like an angler’s net, like a curtain coming down about me, falling down around me, falling down.

Here among the seekers, with their careworn faces and rundown places, lays a hopeful voice, praying that words avoid bombs. Am I too late? Have I lost the sunrise to the noise?
Have my lips been broken by the fist inside your love? Have your lips been broken by the fury inside of mine? Please wash the bitterness away, drain it from me, drain it from you, drain it all away.



© 2010 by mark prime

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