The Daily Poem – Detachments – 1 & 2 by Mark Prisco

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Detachments – 1 & 2 by Mark Prisco

1. Cut


Bless my suffering

cut short, shorn

like lawn on long

summer days.


Tedious heaven.


These hours of suffering

are swathed


by an eternity

of days:


was, will be.



There’s no death

but how to tell it?


Last night was all one to me –


Whitman off his tree

gathering daisies

from the grave, I lay



with the voices, my own

mostly, whispering

the mind, random

happenings like

nothing I know;

a Padre Nostro;

word for word,

a Michelangelo;

no reason, you know.


I got up at 1 o’clock,

cut 3 lines on my arm,

and went to work.


2 desert, sea


One day I quit.


I’m sick of bodily demands –

having to eat

and go to the toilet.

The drudge of the supermarket

on a Thursday

and the radio


blows, always

the hum-drum tins

of beans on toast.

I’m not cynical.

Government is.

Advertising, radio:

the real world. The way our lives

are organized. I’m nothing


but myself – the real me.


One day I quit

for the desert, sea,

wood; live long

for the mountains and the trees;

love, and soft

pillows, under one

a gun. Rain sun

rustic wheels,

animals; a boy

and girl. I’m not cynical.

Government is.

The real world.

May 2015

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