The Hair of the Soul Rebels

by Robert McNamara

AND the world
is bald and
wearing wigs
of fright
cancer on a stick
we walk our dogs
to Euthanasia Inc.
to die with us
as we go up
in a blaze
pyre of
sleepy time

but who is reborn?
body discovered
put to quick white ash
as lifeline waves
buckle and blow
away in a flash
of heartbeat
x-ray pineal eye
transfixed
and gone
the hair of
the soul falls out
to clog a billion
drain sucking lips
until we see
the water rise
and we swim
in a sea of human hair
like Baudelaire

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