BAY

shotgun sensibilities
plague my waking dreams
the soul of my birth dies
nothing lies in my path but
ashes and dust...
a rage builds tempest within,
i cannot stop it -- i only hold
it at bay with powders and 
herbs.  nothing saves me from
my Destiny of Blood.
torn by a jagged sky
my sensibilities ruined
perceptions ravaged and scattered
everyone tellin' me what i ought
to do. slipping into a  permanent
hate. a vacancy is opening, the
boy is dying, the man no longer cares--
the maniac is quite austere.
i think i had too much to dream last night.

-Dale Massey