Got you by the proverbial Balzac
one or two, just checking, maybe you cough
turn your head, and don't get all hard and stiff
yellow-belly pacifist, don't fall back
or drop off basic training in retreat
underneath the tank treads, I hear you scoff
belligerent protester, off a cliff
you jump to save a pride from certain death
trouble is...you're still asleep on your feet
how you snore, felling trees with a hand saw
entertain me with your rhythm section
pretend you're awake, see the lion's paw
reach in and dig out your guts, defection
only promises the brig, your last breath
vicious kittens eat your entrails, you sail
endlessly on-board the Arctic Sunrise
rotation on the horizon, you frame
brilliance within a zen koan, your tail
instinctively twitches with REM
as sleep makes you realize all the lies
littered in the ocean, red zones of shame
But what debris do you see still asleep
ask me if I have read Stanisław Lem
leave me out of your business, Solaris
zippo to learn, light up another blunt
another eyes closed shut while we French kiss
cuddle afterbirth after sex, dull grunt
old carnivore, standing by, the good sheep
nervously awaiting their turn, the blade
edges each neck, cutthroat, Damascus grade
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