'cross from SUGAR Hill

by B.J. Burgins

shugar has never been so bitter
with a hint of sweetness yearning
to float atop of much sourness:

Voice shaky,
dead but still alive
in the after-math of killing himself;
breath reeking of the world,
trading war stories
of long ago memories
to pass time.

The good son I play,
trying to bring comfort,
trying to give a sense of relief,
though the victim of his
selfishness and grief.

Life imitating art,
A.R. & Rome
all over again-
and talking sense
with a degenerate
who knows everything
is a mental game 
and frustrating debate
within itself:
"I know this,
I Know that,
What YOU should do,
I Know, I KNOW", etc.
-A battle of the flesh and brain
toying with smarts and dumbness
stretched upon the valley of insane.

Longing for old days,
rehabilitated, but still
reaching for old ways -
stuck on familiarity,
afraid of anything new
trying to revive ghosts and love
that rest in graveyards,
sentiments of what rests
in a weary heart
that longs for passed time;

lost in yesterday
but still knowing the way -
pride and flesh
running from death:
"I got it, I know,
shiiittt! , I made you
been here before you
ain't made it this far
being foolish,
I know GOD, 
shiiittt I pray!
all day, 24 hours"....

Slummed out, bummed out
not too far estranged
suffering similar pains,
trying to make good of bad
on something lost and had
- life I guess, foreal
is something similar to
Sugar Hill.


'cross from SUGAR Hill by B.J. Burgins

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