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Jan 20, 2007 04:06 PM
by Mark Jaqua

   Here's a poem I wrote a long time 
ago for some of the "locals," 
conventionality, social pretense, and
general dead-headedness.
          - jake j.
What crime did I commit to be here? 
Are there no heavens in eternity?
Why here, among this rotting flesh, flys and stench. 
Among the Dukes of Hazzard and romance novels
Among those that think it luxury 
And the grandest fun
They know not their lowly condition 
Or distance from light
Among those that see a little game of cards 
As the only game there is,
The one ordained by god
If they ever think that far 
Before a disdainful smirk set in 
Like a knee-jerk,
Or the reaction of the lowest plankton. 
That sorry tramp I tried to help
I find his brains are scrambled 
I find him turning on me
With the predator's smile
When dollar's and cents are involved. 
At home. . . 
These piles of boards 
And ugly concrete blocks 
Cry war against my neighbor's uprooted crabgrass 
And neatly snipped sidewalks.
These boards lap at their foundations of morality 
The abyss is only a few hundred feet away
The abyss they tread over 
Supported by a Snapper lawnmower 
And Sherwin-Williams paint. 
More savages wear suit and tie 
Or drive new chevys or buicks 
Than wave a spear in the Jungle. 
Savagery is of the mind
And petty or grasping disposition,
And not of unkempt hair and grubby house. 
There is more savagery in churches
Than any native hut.

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