Spin Around

How can I know the shit
renting, tearing the space   
	'round my head
	
rushing like sacred rivers,
  loud as crack or crystal meth,
  dead-on as bullets never heard.
  
I've been struck many times
  penetrated, demoralized.
  
Ripped apart
  and reassembled
  in another mold.
  
Ears gone to stone
  leaving only enough
  to hear commandments.
  
Frozen by dread, ice
  encased by inaction.
  
I fear raising my skull from the foxhole.
  I cower before terrorist shadows
  and eat more pills.
  
I think of Humpty Dumpty
  and despair.
  
I gnaw on tough roots
  of poems.

November 2003
  revised May 26, 05