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Pig Me | Top
By Kerry McCullough

I find myself, the meat
Within an existential shell of lies
My sphere withdrawing
From further winds, portraying the truth
But in truth, untrue and unknowing
A world within worlds
Ever changing
Ever confusing
Always contradictory

When and will the earth crack in half
And share its mysteries of mind-blowing proportion?
And at the final days
When one, many, or all of us
Must shed our misconceptions
And relieve the stubbornness
Which of us will keep the faith?

In Bloom | Top
By Kerry McCullough

Little Tommy Littlefield
Who hides behind a cyan shield
Clings to fleshy walls inside
The symbol of his mother's pride

Longer, longer, as it seems
On and on, the oil steams
"Is it over, is it done"
"Have I finally gained a son?"
Rambling on the father goes
Pacing through the lobby rows

Through the double doors we see
That underneath the canope
Tommy surely did conciede
Through the struggle he was freed
And as he slowly gained his sight
Tommy saw the silver light

Poetic As Thee | Top
By Kerry McCullough

I turn the dial, fetch my log
Feed the kittens, feed the dog
Cast the work upon my chair
Deep inhale the morning air
Read the words I once had laid
Now awake, my silence paid

Off I go, Off I hike
O'er the hill, past the dike
On my way to knowledge hall
Ever long, ever tall

Find a place, a poem place
A smile breaks across my face
Is it true? I read of you?
Can I share my story too?
A Poem Place I found for me
I wish to be poetic as thee

Wince At The Moon | Top
By Kerry McCullough

It's cold and it's dark
I have nothing to say
It seems to get harder with each passing day
Explosions and murder
Black cows in flight
My daily injection of bitter delight

Deeper into the corner I crawl
Harder and harder, the rain seems to fall
Never again, I think I shall see
The sparkling child that I used to be
My bruises have healed, but my vengeance is green
In two weeks, and four days, I'll be only sixteen

Not A Cloud In Sight | Top
By Kerry McCullough

Deep beneath my taught burned skin
I reek of evil, wretched sin
Beating is the morning sun
That knows the wicked truth within

I'd thoughts of love, I'd thoughts of pride
Now only thoughts of suicide
Burning is the rising sun
That nows the secrets that I hide

Not a cloud that I can see
This star exposed your fantasy
Beating is the evening sun
That knows of harsh reality

Found a new soul to begin?
Wet your lips and dig on in
Beating is the setting sun
'Til another woeful day's begun

The Mechanical Bird | Top
By Kerry McCullough

Dare I open the door to the masses of Velcro tourists
Seeking only to scorn the venomous black widows
That hide and feast in my innards?

In darkness, loud
death merely hides
Behind fluffy white clouds
And bright blue skies

Trapped beneath the sands of my homeland
Waiting for disease to set in for the night
Conjuring dirty words
To scare the creators of this strange facade
From entering my hobbit hole
Cold, tranquil, home

I've reached the limits of my vine grabbing radius
Sinking deeper into seemingly endless, five mile eternity

Hope
My wounds don't heal
But rather seal with infinite complexity
Leaving no scab or scar behind
Deeper wounds beneath
Waiting to be resurected by weakness and insecurity
Lurk unseen by my now naked eye

All that I've loast and feared
Drains into whats left of this ill fated world
As angels carry me upon their bosom
To uncharted lives of kings and gods
Life surely mapped out for me
As happy as fairy tales end

But where, oh where will the black widows sleep?

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