before I slip into unconsciousness,
walking the tightrope of concertina wire,
the voices must be studied, then answered,
then the self-immolation may begin in earnest.
tortured soldiers seek medication-kisses on
metaphysical (metaphorical) foreheads; they
realize that support the troops is code for
support george fuckin' bush......
before I slip into irreversible coma status
the delicate dainty doctors discuss derailing
my incandescent spark of impending doom/gloom,
essentially tossing out the flamethrower
with the bath water.
...leaving a bed filled with ashes (and little else
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