The Contortionist

In a chalk dotted line
Draw a kid, left behind
Severed limbs in harmony
Strumming from a few good deeds
Carry it to survive
To a bed half alive
Held before a dozen times
Deep inside a funeral for a friend:
Runs in portions like film clips
Run, run
Rundown the list
The memoirist
Like kindling
Burn, burn, burn, and burn down
I will stay inside
The saved
It’s a good mourning
They will ignite you (soon)
The doomed
I will write for you
Of a boy, damaged goods
Of a bench, understood
For a spell, the soul resides
In a yellow chalk outline
Carry on the camel’s back
Have another heart attack
To the cure I would drive
Played that scene a hundred times to date
Today’s ambition, to relate
In a sustaining saccharine state
Impart the burden and get well
It’s what everyone’s trying to sell
Anything you want it to be
Weigh the screenplay and revise
Warp, warp, warp with the contortionist
So hopelessly ill-fated everyday
He will stay inside
The doomed
It’s a good mourning to loom
They will inspire him
The saved Innocently filling graves