visit nutcracker hill
and meet the mad man on display
he's all wound up, he has no clock
will explode, and be on his way

Come visit the willy nilly nunnery
where some women have set up vacancy
the frog they fried, we don't know why
and all have filed for mental bankruptcy

we stumble together
we hope for the better
we fall upon our sorrows
break the body we borrow

we soon die. we
don't lie. we
no hope. we
smoke dope. we
no cry. we
say bye

running forever in the same spot
run so hard, so fast, exasperatingly so
that I've run a hole into the ground
and quake the ground of the men
as they bend, pick and weave from
stocks, grains of rice for their belly

anger is the emotion
she chooses to cut with -
in it, she feels the power
that rises to meet her need
to strike with precession

words are her tools
in which she executes
the anger that bubble
out of physical wounds

yet, does healing come
from this expulsion
of injury and abuse
of a violated self?