It

It tells me what to think.
It tells me what not to think.
It pins me to the wall.
I break through the wall.
Forget what took me to the wall.
Keep running through wall after wall.
Leaving flesh, skeleton, blood all over the place.
A bloody place
Hose it down.
Down the drain.
Into the ocean.
Wake up!
You’re imagining things!
You add and subtract as you go.
Where?
To somewhere familiar.
To a bloody wall!
To a loose wall with loose bricks.
To brick after brick impaled with broken bones.
Now you tell me!
This is the story of Poor John
the hard-headed something-or-other
whose brains are all over the place.
To re-assemble him would be quite an ordeal.
In fact impossible since like all other Poor Johns
he has to obey the second law of thermal dynamics
which is one can’t reassemble a scrambled something or other
and call it an egg without bumping into Empathy
going into the grocery store and being berated for
handing the manager a mess and demanding some links to go with it.
So the moral of this is:
God is a chicken
But only Man can make an omelet…
Or it,