HUNKER IN THE BUNKER

HUNKER IN THE BUNKER

Hunker your soul down in the bunker,
Watch to whom you talk,
For life is real and earnest,
And love is not a cakewalk.
And life can throw you curve balls,
That you always fail to see.
Hunker your soul down in the bunker,
You've lots of company.

This life is a bunker, 
No comforts of home,
You had better get used to walking alone.
The sun bubbles over like some babbling child,
The bunker can burn you,
It is lonesome and wild.

Hunker yourself down in the bunker,
It's a sphere of mystery where we all hide,
It's hell here on earth, so welcome inside.
There's plenty for all to weep and to grieve,
It's where we all labor and plant our proud seeds.
Then the wind comes along 
And scatters them where it will.
Hunker yourself down in the bunker,
Loneliness can kill.

Hunker down in the bunker,
Make your marks on the wall,
Of every last betrayal and every umpire's call,
That turned out to be spurious,
That turned out untrue.
Hunker yourself down in the bunker,
In memory of those who loved you.

Hunker down in the bunker,
Be careful who you trust,
Fellow soldiers flesh and blood,
Their foot-steps turn to rust.
And lips have lied and tongues are tied,
It will ever be that way,
In these days of strange intrigue,
We are hurled into the fray,

What I am trying to say is this,
A serpent's nature is to bite and hiss,
There is evil lurking in the world,
Asses bare that must be kissed.
Hunker your soul down in the bunker,
Save a space for me,
For we are comrades tried and true,
Fighting in this army.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

IMAGINED SLIGHTS

IMAGINED SLIGHTS

What's one more imagined slight,
In the great grand scheme of things?
What's one more benign betrayal,
To add to my roster of broken dreams?

I feel rain with every breath I take,
Pain with every move I make.
Gracelessly I take up space,
Sand in my sneakers, egg on my face.

If the world hands me life, I hand it back.
The lust to go on I sorely lack.
If the whole world doesn't love me,
My heart it hastily hits the floor.
Detractors they stand high above me,
Useless debris washing up on their shore.

I am proud of who I am and proud of all I believe.
I dare to live my life out loud,
But I wear it all on my lonesome sleeve.
Not nearly as stable and staid as I seem,
Stripped naked and bare to the world's laser beam.

What's one more imagined slight,
In this dim house of mirrors known as my mind?
What's one more benign betrayal,
Downloaded in real time?

The garish clown with his floppy shoes,
The tabloid with its shocking news.
The circus tent is up and its freakish flag is flying.
My mascara it is running from the desperate tears I'm crying.

If I had a million dollars and a thousand screaming fans,
Like castles and like daydreams, I would turn it all to sand,
Real estate a bauble and mansions not worth the land.
Read my palm, my lifeline's weak,
The future's a cliffside, slippery and steep.
It's a raging tide I swim against,
My only relief the deep peace of sleep.

It's all of these imagined slights that gather in my brain,
A vast right wing conspiracy, a swift downpour of rain.
Guilt for the life I can no longer lead,
A hapless hemophiliac enjoying the bleed.
Choking on this surfeit of wasted space,
I stumble to the finish of my sluggish race.

-Bruce Potts
Copyright 2012
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Note: I jokingly call this one "The Joy of Paranoia".