They make me feel
like wearing bones on my head
and killing them
at random …
I see
my hands moving
working
while the faces
keep talking
asking
wanting
but all I can hear
are those
wild cowboys
riding hell-bent horses
under thunder & lightning
mud and rain
and yelping
six-guns blasting
blood-shot eyes in black night
They look at me
and I can hear the whispers
of their unguarded thoughts
the suspicions
the lies
the idiocy of
institutionalization
And
suddenly they stop
the murmur
all is silent
and I see my hands
still working
but it isn’t good enough
they know
I know
they know
I can see their
skeleton faces laughing
screaming
while the flesh
pretends
So
I move
slowly
for the door
and their eyes turn
the dead ones inside the skin
and the secret ones
inside
the sockets
It’s now or never
I run
as the bone fingers point.
–Bradley Mason Hamlin