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Get Sick

“Get sick and then tell me what you think about this medicine…”

Said the lonely Injin pushing his funeral cart

through the appropriated square

tell me tell me tell me where my cigarettes went

and why the smoke hangs inside the air

justifying the time the years the months

the moments

the breaths

the quilt and

the hunger


I crave a peace that will last longer

sturdy ground that won’t fall under

movie reels that’ll spin forever

the scent

the touch

the warmth of my lover

progress that wept and halter tops

what we found and what it cost

killing God with lightning rods

falling down from laughter


tell me what do you remember?


be my Grant and I'll play Lee

city folks call it Dixie

call it home from a phone

wishing I was on California's coast

not to brag

not to startle

but I'll burn this town like it were a candle


give my whiskey mix it with my water

give me my needs and mix 'em up with my "I wanna"s


A dharma maniac armed

with dictionaries and almanacs

sits alone in this chair

it won't last and I don't care


I won't reveal my position

or the shape I'm in


Get sick

and then tell me

what you think

of this medicine.

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© 2020 by a.p. duvall.
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