Give me back my body
the way it was, at twenty-three;
give me back my hunger;
give me, immortality.
Give me back my plastic surgeon;
make me live like Joan of Arc;
give me life and bullets and ammunition;
give me the Torah and its Ark.
Give me freedom from communion;
give me, Beauty and the Beast;
give me war, and peace, and liberation;
it's all worthless, once you've been released.
Give me sex and crackheads and coke;
and give me your stupid vaccine, whatever the fuck its name;
give me honesty and retribution;
give me, someone else to blame.
Give me crime, and give me thugs,
and give me all the President's men;
give me Brahms and give me Schubert;
just don't say, we ever need to meet again.
I'm not saying, I never wanna see ya;
all I'm saying is that our time is up;
whatever once was, was there to greet ya;
it's all down now by the bottom of your paper cup.
From "The Womb" by Daniel Viragh
All rights reserved.