Puppet X,10 Poem by Jerry Ratch

Puppet X,10



Still
I don't know

One minute you're
squeezing the brains out of
goldfish, the next you're
running the show

After awhile
it's hard to raise an eyebrow over
anything

- the sound of
lightly falling souls
- your crotch cold and dreaming:

“pneumonia oldmonia
6 is half a dozen”

Is the way you
would say it
I suppose…

It shouldn't
have to be
that way

- raised to forget quickly
- smiling around

- used to being artificial

The dead dislike themselves
The living
are in pain

What hopelessness, misery,
despair
One thinks of washing his hands
One doesn't care…

We know - the rules - we know
- the road to Standard City