In a Maggot Nation

Now imagine there’s no song called Imagine,

I wonder even if you could.

Now imagine that your are John Lennon

in bed with three Yokos

and you have to answer questions from reporters

who think your name is aptly homonymical,

especially when it echoes in Strom Thurmond’s hollow heart.

Now imagine you cannot count to five

and you do not care

and no one makes fun of you for it.

Now imagine that plastic cups cost three dollars a gallon

and the gas stations start giving cigarettes away for free

and the water fountains in all the high schools in Tennessee

convert to Blood of Christ fountains overnight.

Now imagine being stuck in a crib with a lobster who is an expert on Miró

and you feel so ashamed at not having anything to add to the conversation

and you just curl up into a ball, suck on your thumb, and your mother

de-ascends, picks you up, drops you on your head for the fourth and final time,

and all is well in the detergent isle again.

Now imagine a place called the Detergent Isle.

Would you go there? What one book what you bring? Not counting your wife,

what one girlfriend from your past would you bring?

Be careful how you answer that question.

Therapy is expensive. So is divorce.

Prison Poem

A friend of mine who had a short stint in the Big House shared this poem from a fellow inmate:

Somebody get me out of here

The fun has been over shadowed by the fear

That I may never find my way out

Seems that I’m stuck on this deadend route

They’re never gonna leave me alone

As if I really wanna give up my thrown

What is it that prevents me from letting go

Guess I’ve yet to hit my all time low

Numb to any type of feeling

With some of my problems I better start dealing

I’m in quick sand up to my neck

The results of all the responsibilities I chose to neglect

Everything is catching up to me

Not to much longer before I’m unable to breath

No one is coming to rescue me

The pressure so tight don’t think i’ll ever get free

Somebody get me out of here

All this sand isn’t going to just disappear

But everyone knows there’s only one way out of quicksand

And thats by someone grabbing your hand

So no matter how much I hate to admit

My own wrong decisions have landed me in this pit

Vulnerable, tired and almost out of hope

Praying someone finds me and throws me a rope

The sand pit is a perfect example

There are situations in life not meant for one person to handle.