Unclean

Can you please point out to me
Which way the wind is blowing?
The weathervane atop the trailer
Seems to be broken
Not quite certain wether I am coming or going
Knowing I just can't seem to sit still
While time speeds up in a peculiar slowing

I'm not clean

Neglected like an infected rash

I'm not clean

Doctor needles strewn about a heap of white trash

Can you please tell me
Will the sun ever shine in the sky again?
The darn shades in my room
Refuse to roll up for some odd reason
Maybe I should take it as a sign
It's no longer Sunny season

I'm not clean

A lifesized doll lying overgrown in the grass

I'm not clean

Beetles drowning in a discarded glass beer bottle

Mama
She had a baby
And its head popped off

I said,
Mama had a baby
And its head popped off

Deflowered
By his loving hands
That began to choke and throttle

Nothing special
Now just like any other weed

Papa,
Was it everything you hoped for?

Like your precious medicine
You insist you can't live without
And always seem to need?