UncOnscIouS

WREATHS

Here I am chased by shadows
in the era of fear and anomie
eleven or twelve years past
the day descendant bullets propelled
bits of blood and skull against
the happy pink attire and smeared
like paint those long stockings
and black lincoln upholstery.

but an empty skull surrounded
by dirt is no calamity
or pull towards pity.
there are too many others
pushed beneath perception.
one wonders when though
if today is february nineteenth
they will take away those
fucking christmas wreaths.

-Tom Frangicetto

—Another Poem My Dad Wrote in College.. (via alisonalisonalison)

Another poem from dad…

(Source: sheepeyes)