What do you do with a hurt like this inside
and bleeeding outward day and night? Wound wound
through gut; cut clutched, bent over, choking wild
like sucker stabbed from trusty blade no sound.

A hurt that screams in pain, forever shocked
by old news. A panicked, confused alarm
exploding dirty through gut chest all. You walked
again alone bent, coughing sobs — no harm
in sight. Folded and stirred into a gentle night
in a peaceful town: a lucky respite
in such a world so full of fight.

You’re wasting the miracle of safe and sound —
A priceless magic: free time in a free world.
Another Saturday in drink alone: profound
ly lame. But how to stand now tall, unfurl
ing tangled heap of feathers turned and torn?
“I gotta pull it together” is getting pretty worn.

You need someone who believes you.
But who has the space to believe
what has no face no account no excuse?
Just people who charge an hourly fee
to listen to those who would complain
here where all deal with deep-in secret pains.

How to stand up?
How to push shoulders back, chest out?
How to lift head, open eyes, breathe deep?
How to cherish each drop of conscious thought?
How to use oneself wisely?
For we will all be used up by this life
one way or another

doesn’t make sense to try to run
when you’re walking wounded
but it don’t help to spend the sun
licking wounds, howling ’round town.

what is the balance where is the space
the play the give the soft spot
beyond hopes fears past pride and disgrace
a way to live with all you’ve got

And here we are
a time of political evil
how to catch it as it is
reflect the push and pull
with no more nor less than is

Author: Unclear Origin
Editors: Bartleby Willard and Amble Whistletown
Copyright: Andrew M. Watson