Pain
takes the deadpan stage
of the
body.
The
audience of self,
only
pays attention.
Meaning,
being the only patron
of
means.
Pain
proceeds in a slapstick way.
By
topic,
there is
little hope for applause.
Finally,
during the course of life,
we are
all
this
broken down stage.
Meaning
becomes a series
of
folded dollar bills,
looking
for cleavage
or
g-string tucks.
Misery
is lap dancing
next to
misery.
These
times themselves,
are our
ourselves as faceless crowd
looking
up.
Meaning,
for now,
is the
pain of salivation
before
any food for thought,
for the
rest of us, dancing.
Pain
then becomes our silent hero.
The hero
of our first person destiny,
standing
there, facing us,
speechless
but fully present,
wondrous,
yet never looking back
nor
sharing anecdotes.
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