The Sacred Tragedy by Dre Carlan at Spillwords.com

The Sacred Tragedy

The Sacred Tragedy

written by: Dre Carlan

@BXS_RYL_PT

 

Too many reasons to respect you,
        all given to me in seasons passed.
                So sadistic but the flow’s hex-proof.
                        Handcuffs I have, but the feelings; had.
                                How they’ve evaporated through air
                                        we’ll never know. Though we need it; bad.
                                                As your royalty take their new chairs.
                                                        The Boonies are who’re stuck with me
                                                as five-thousand miles away, you stare
                                        a blank expression but luckily
                        I came with a cure for it though here’s
                the thick; a plot that can’t ever be.
        No pissed out-sweat and no angered-fear,
fantasies still expound on the nights
        we’d walk by water there— maybe here.
                Either way it’s clearer than daylight
                        that fate works perfectly in its ways.
                                A puppy-love worth enough; re-write
                                        phrases that’ll stay stuck on re-play
                                                like endless loops. Fruity attitudes
                                        that come from the I’s who can’t sea-straight.
                                Ever since she said “Not feeling well…”
                I let my heart case over in ice—
        Burn in Heaven or come chill in hell
N’er do sell, all these lines I recite
        Just for that Queen B—, always; Bullet.
                Like her bark but in love with the bite.
                        Shit—I’ll bring the trigger and pull it
                                myself and make it a Boys Night Out
                                        commandments that had to get full-writ.
                                                Jumped in the ‘Stang after we fight, how
                                                        did it even get to this?— As Mas
                                                puts me in my place then and right now.
                                        Just as Goddess of Darkness has locks,
                                chains and wraps tightly around my neck—
                        no need to check; she’s who in-fact knocks.
                ’Trice is Queen, but Maya’s also wet
        I’ve always put my women on ’till
3:18 said to tell ‘em, “send checks.”
        If Parks and Rec can’t do it, Ron will
                A pimp with a mustache that likes ham
                        no stand up spam, comically chalk-filled.
                                Higher than the flyers of kites, damn.
                                        Re-grounded by Angels or all those
                                                For Greater Communes— always; Bike Fam.
                                        Those who pronounce my name have died twice
                                not ‘cause of it, but by their blessed cups
                        normal gents and madams with nine lives
                The first step’s too simple to mess up
        touch your Imperial fingertips
to your heart in-between its rests, bumps
        in the far out distance; swinger ships
                blasting their canons, smoke forming P
                        as purgatory-guides— wringers win
                                absorbing onyx fluidity
                                        at the base of your nose is an O
                                                for her orgasmic musical feet
                                                        Touch exterior of left shoulder
                                                                and please gently repeat after me:
                                                        “There can always be something colder,
                                                something worse out there in life to be.”
                                        only afterwards you’ll see emerge
                                carved with blades into the wife’s door; Ë
                        Touch your right shoulder; bloodied knees hurt
                from creating the cross of a T
        earning my name like honey-bees work
out amongst the Church with fairy-trees;
        —you’ll see my shadow slowly slinking
                across the pond where you’ll marry me.
                        There you’ll see my shadow,
                                while slowly marrying me.
                                        My Mom worked and worked while she alone,
                                                knew about the signature Strat I craved
                                                        still bought it in bluish-green sea-foam
                                                messes I’d made, she’d clean up in Spades
                                        still found the time to relay “J’taime”
                                loved me just the same, despite my mistakes
                        kept our home warm in Winters, no lemn
                I’d spent my adolescent years just
        watching cartoons; some Stimpy, all Ren
All anger, all the time that she’d trust
        wasn’t about what I’d say it was
                on Birthdays she’d kissed and wished me luck
                        a love unconditional because
                                that’s what our Mother Nature expects
                                        but when does she herself say enough?
                                                When her own son— flesh and blood— rejects
                                                        all her teachings and wisdom mean-while
                                                                the worst hasn’t even hit me yet.
                                                        I’m crazy but you can’t speak of denial
                                                when you hear the truth spoken like so
                                        as the fire I’ll keep when senile
                                with old age, no matter how; night’s sown
                        itself into daily existence
                until the plant-child is first regrown.

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