Sometimes Samson Malmoli
We need to go the other way to get to the right place Sometimes I was feeling like I wasn’t doing enough Or that I wasn’t there Keep taking down the bricks Keep on yelling at me I need to see the robots and the bandages Attached to her head, sprouting My mother was/is alien, foreign, unborn, unknown In this bed in a solitary white sectional area This is the eulogy of a rose garden This is the past tense of my stress Water shoved down my throat Like the shrieking voice that kept me up and kept shaking me I was haunted by all that I couldn’t do enough of And I tried to keep my message straight and so I found that all I was doing the whole time was keeping And I kept everything in a big pile on my hand like the lawn I could have been thrown out of the house on In the structure of the waiting-room-dome, it felt church-like At this age when you try to abuse yourself for personal depth I was acting a myth and I was Icarus And the ceiling blocked my approach of the sun So it had to try to take someone else in my place
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