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Dawn Richerson

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Shot of Reality
by Dawn Richerson

Wednesday, August 27, 2003

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Recent poems by Dawn Richerson
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           >> View all 785

They come at me with needles
and smiles, distorted faces
too close, their eagerness
to silence me terrifyingly
insane. In the crazy cage
one cannot decline
such hospitality.

The serum, much more for
sake of the others than for me,
slows, but cannot stop this
sweet truth-telling, reminiscing
my pain. How’s that, I scream,
for a shot of uncensored

“Out, out, damn, wretched,
cursed spot!” Altered voice
reverberates, scratches its way
out, out of black pit of me,
stained with sin. Peering
through square window I spy
thick elevator doors, throw-up
green, there, I am told,
for our safety. 

Wanting not to face
glistening-eyed attendants
wielding needles like toys, I
swallow rainbow-colored liquids
as I am told, shuffle as do
the others (so as not to
stand out). The secret
they say is to play crazy
mild with long, deliberate
return to sanity.

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