The Wake

I wanted some good old-fashioned schizophrenia the other day—
some conflicting mind interest to get the ‘ole ticker clicking.

At first I was hesitant, not wanting to pursue conflicting questions arisen
but instead pursue some truth and forget this blind vision.

Turns out the mind doesn’t work that way, being mistaken for something
else, rather than that pigeon nibbling on its feathers outside the window

by the kitchen eating Lord knows what between its feathers—
exploring its beak—it’s a shame this fella can’t speak.

I’ve got this box of radiation that likes to hang out
sending ripples into my eardrum trying to make meaning.

My lips don’t make this same frequency. Is it really happening?
I don’t even know what Wolf Blitzer sounds like in real time.

In my mind he happens to carry a clipboard and a beard on his face
facing this contraption camera capturing captivating careers

of tacit hatespeak. I want to understand Islamo-Fascism and who their leader is
and the basis of this philosophy any why it’s not made so concrete

to me and you and everybody between the news and the truth
and this schizophrenic dive bar.