Raindrops, hugs & kisses, and stabs in the back
Though I’d prefer you stab me in the front, because pretending to care is ten times worse
I can’t offer you logical proofs, but I can give you my whole-y heart
Normally I wouldn’t write something so cliche’, but lately I’ve been reading about vulnerability
Taking me back to my days in the city that I barely remember
Things were less hopeful then (which is ironic, because I was surrounded by a mutilated corpse)
With its last few breaths it promised to stab me in the front
And in the back it went
So tell me – was it time well spent?
That’s okay, though, really – I expected as much from the Body of Christ
“Forgive me if that’s blasphemous”
There I go again practicing pretentious piety!
I’m just as much a false prophet as you!
This poem isn’t looking very much like a poem
So let me mix it up a bit
But what is a poem?
Ponies were riding down the escalator racing to find meaning
Highlighting all the houses that stood out among their blinders
Feeding in the ones with no complexity – reveling in complicity
Oh structure, dear structure, do you exist?
Only if there’s a foundation to rest your twisted neck
There we go, a real poem
I may be skeptical of authority, but I’m not Postmodern!
Who’s Authority, anyway?
I don’t have a name, silly.