the destroyed live with panic the way
others do with morning cough
the destroyed have great stories
all of them true, especially the lies
the destroyed are exciting, like a car wreck
the destroyed do a mean tango in Hell
the destroyed dress for every climate
they know what to do with rags
I've seen the destroyed make themselves up with
nothing but blood and look ravishing
the destroyed don't need address books, they
remember things
the destroyed have a talent for raw pain
a knack for complex self-destruction
great skill at running away
a genius for sleeping anywhere
the destroyed get up 'Round Midnight
the destroyed are too proud to beg but do it
anyway, for the experience
the destroyed are fantastic dreamers, even in
their sleep
the destroyed are as crafty as raccoons
the destroyed come in all sexes, many colors, and
endless contexts
the destroyed may make it yet, but it
won't be their fault
the destroyed have it made
the destroyed are only patriotic to the
Kingdom of Heaven
the destroyed scream like music and fall
like towers
cry like birds and swoon like Jesus
the destroyed crash and burn then catch a ride
going south of no north
the destroyed can't give up, it's not polite
- David Lerner
from his book I Want A New Gun
This poem posted with permission from Zeitgeist Press.
"Poetry you can actually read."
(Thanks to Bruce Isaacson.)
