On A Crooked Shelf Poem by Neil Solan

Cracked wheat stands in the barrels
While my patron saint waits around the back,
Killing thoughts with contemplation
And giving all clairvoyants the sack,
(They claim they know my destiny
And I could never stand for that) .

I chose this idyllic location
For reason number one,
I would love to carry your burdens
But they weigh a godamn ton,
And i'm not gonna let you tarnish this landscape
Or take the smile away from the sun.

I know not the way to heaven
Nor if in fact, a path was made,
I'm a constant under-achiever,
I'm a sundial in the shade,
Better kill the child at birth
Than give it this price to pay.

These lame passions feel overweight
And i'm on a crooked shelf,
The screws need not be bothered;
I put them there myself,
But the manner in which it splinters me
Can be of no benefit to my health.

I'm not at all pragmatic;
My hands remain tied behind my back,
Remebering the sound the ocean made
When the conch began to crack,
Charge up your twisted tales
With this battery on your back.

This room seems almost heavy
But i'm always game for a laugh,
I'm just another statistic,
Another cross on their graph,
Just another member of society,
Just another member of staff.

I have my blood and honesty
But I haven't found my wealth,
When weapons are mass destructive,
And taxes come in stealth,
I'll still be an under achiever
Sitting on my crooked shelf.