Out In The Wasteland

Is it possible to write

and still maintain integrity?

do people really want to hear

mysterious confessions

hidden deep within

crazed, carnivorous caverns?

lost fantasies

beyond moral redemption,

or am I only fooling myself?

who cares?

You want drama,

you want unspoken promises,

you want flesh-filled, flailing

among pieces of uncontrollable stench,

you want madness in the shape of art;

(I hear they’re having a sale at Wal-Mart.)

Questions, questions, questions,

searching, searching, searching,

one surprise after another,

most never get past the door,

some barely hear the answers,

others quietly bury their head

in the burning, sinking sand,

then there are the rest:

sleeping,

eating,

shitting,

locked-up alone

in silent solitude,

never making a sound,

never giving a clue;

dying without a chance.

That’s how it is

out here in the wasteland,

the price

of doing business;

the cost no one

can afford.

.

.