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UNDERGROUND VOICES: POETRY
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ZACHARY C. BUSH
Morning Prayer 1,000 Mornings Later Now mother raises me from a bathtub of bile and piss. I curse You, God, who did me no keep, through five orbits of Saturn’s rings and back, to nothing I pray. Bill Burroughs, grant me the serenity to accept my dirty-needle fate I cannot change; the courage to do whatever I must to just maintain; and the wisdom to know when to make an exit. Amen. The Bathroom I close the door I turn the lock Checking it a second time Just to make sure I meet my reflection in the mirror Glass stained by dried teardrops Blanketed with dust Naked I study my body Moles Veins Ribs that shouldn’t show But do And the scars arms wrists thighs Though it terrifies me to look deeper I cannot leave the room I am exposed Allowing myself to experience Painful memories THE CURSING THE CRYING THE CRAWLING T H E C A R V I N G of my skin It was in the bathroom that I would punish myself for the life I tried to hide Hoping this ritual would free me Of my sins My name is Zachary Cecil Bush. I am a twenty-three year old, skinny, white male. I smoke too many cigarettes, knowing it is slowly killing me, but it’s better than crack. Did you like me then? Most days I try to escape the grasp of my enemy, my reflection, what you see. Most days I try to be something else, something more than this. But honestly, I am no more, no less, passively insecure and aggressively self-absorbed. What did you expect? |
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© 2007 Underground Voices |
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