Grant Guy

in a world whose heart has been extracted

By

Grant Guy

 

in a world whose heart has been extracted from hope
i am on my own w/o a name or face
i stand in my naked clothes of deception
behind a dead mic

 

i howl & howl & whimper & whimper
to an empty space w/o dimensions
but no one no one has come to hear me

 

my words are the empty words of a dying antonin artaud
sputtering meaningless syllable & yaps for hours on end

 

cruelty and kindness are dismembered
& thrown like johnny’s appleseeds
into the long loneliness of the void beyond nothing

 

b/c i am god’s orphan

 

 

His Story: An Observation

By

Grant Guy

His wife’s stroke he turned it into a story being all about him

His father-in-law’s funeral became all about him.

When Reagan was shot it was definitely a story about him

Oh, let us not forget about his sister dying from leukemia

Nor to mention the molestation and murder of the 69 year old housewife

The Blue Jays winning the World Series

The bus plunge in El Salvador 
I

n his mind they were all about him

That was the kind of guy he was

So when he died

And no one showed up

It was all about him

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