Rotten Poppy Pods

A hollowed out watermelon
Left in the wake a culture asleep
Dodging the eyes of a carnivore on a Friday night
Migrate to find my feather
Then I’ll trade the meat for leather
Or I pray that we start opening our eyes
Slowly moving from Jenny’s voice to Dad’s
Hey you. Hey you. Hey you. Hey you. Hey you.
From fucks to fists
And they are the same
Leaving bruises
Used up
Drowning in a sea of poppies
Searching for the one that will get me high
Mellow traumatic
Sir or get out
Hold still
Fingers tremble
Zero times anything
Trying to make love
Blood of a lamb
Sins of the father
Coffee and water
A camp of orphans
To what means?
Shane
And birds fly over heard
Guilty child
Don’t feed the raccoons