The Wake

Thinking of my future.
I picture father’s face,
And realize,
That I’ve
Liked the Nobel Prize.
Since always.
It carved my smile.
The prize that’s never,
Advertised.
Like the pictures flashing
on all four walls,
That the boy’s black pupil,
Magnifies.
Laughter sickly rises.
From Radiation Roy.
That inanimate,
Mushroom-
fuck blindfold,
That changed all mankind.
Is paid,
to try,
To change my mind.

I’m trying in turn, to turn
This Indian summer,
And unwrap confusion.
With just you and,
my, Shaking,
Hands as my, case against apathy.
It’s in flames
My state, fair
Wisconsin, is
Frying, but ma
Says, we must try to stay happy.