The Point of No Return

In my sight
in all my sights
I come to the depression between
the bone and the sorrow.
When the medial of my
wicked selves sweeps up
after dark and stands naked
in the windows,
on the wharf of the watched world.
Sail on by, street
paving the planners' way home
Late. again-
Boom says the punk inside of
me crawling, my son stands with
oversized, idle boots.
The legs shake one by one -
stop, freeze then
retort, both at the same time.
One heel up towards me,
one pulling back to the wall.
Aren't we all sitting up in the shitter
reading past pictures
in the paper
chewing the fat of our
complacency, at low tide.
We'd be better served
ripping out the stitches between our lips,
sending the fools among us out to massacre,
and breed a new, clean rising fire;
one they can't see, smell,
or trample on.

~ M. Lucia