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Sunday, September 7, 2008

Dark Matter

On The Bleakness Of Blindness
By GC SMITH

Honk, beep, screech, honk
it’s hard to cross the street
I need to get a seeing eye,
a sight dog might be neat

Ouch it’s hot, damn it’s sharp
stuff of each and every day
now a nasty pitfall or trap
fouling me in dang near every way

I can no longer read a book
with Netflix I can’t pass time;
it’s this dammed lonely blindness
that's driving me toward the wine

A jug of red, just skip meals,
will get me through this day
soon my liver will be shot
and I’ll simply fade away

So, to hell with that sight dog
that life is simply not for me
spending ones days behind a dog
is to be in prison, not set free

Braver beings than I, I’m sure
can live with constant black
but I need light, some color
that’s a simple truthful fact

Life spent in total darkness
is no kind of life for me
maybe a dose of cirrhosis
will come to set me free

Or, maybe in a sodden stupor
I’ll stumble into a busy street
on out with rushing city traffic
where a violent end I’ll meet

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