I am the weak link

I am the truth that escapes no lie

I am the Rubicon

where Caesar burned his ears

dispensing with tonality in favor of fame

I am Hitler's affection for art

But more than that

beyond any great man's destiny

I am that which creates nations

and religion

I am a squalling crack baby banging

unceremoniously on the insides of a back-alley dumpster

fetal, fecal and destined to disappear

I am the cruel man's fists

and his wife's broken face

and (not one to stand on vicious ceremony)

the silent screaming terror of their

horrid distant child

An inventory, strange and small, things

to punctuate a dictionary

of fear

and yet with dismal power, exquisite pain

and encyclopedic mannerisms

in houses great and odd

in shattered pews and misplaced intentions

it can only rust the sieve

and display a sum too quirky to calculate

for every day is different

and every morning identical

for we all wake up as I do


and alive


(c) David McIntire



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