i ask that question every day of my life...
find it to be everything
like killing yourself to live
it is every picture told for the mind to see
sometimes in the eyes it is tragic
sometimes not a worry to what is naked
the leaves crushed by the soft shoe
the branch on the ground snapped
does it feel hurt?
the wino whining on the broadway streetcorner
committing felony for another dime
the worm swallowed in the bottle
the slugs suffering in the salt
the paperboy who loses control of his bicycle
do we ever think of the feeling?
a make way collision in the rain
the horror of the crash... the maim in the crush
a gained truth out of a hurtful lie
as the lover cheats on her working man
and later says hello to a baseball bat
daddy screams discipline
and i say "yes sir... 40 push ups sir"
it takes over it makes you weak
deteriorating the working machine
it keeps going but the pulley doesnt want to pull
and its cold fingers and cold sweat
and one is not able to exclaim "no authority"
and its sorrow for them
but its nothing we thrive on... an inferior wake
and thats the killer
the explanation when asked
Mike McVeigh
10-1-01