original poem 7


a false shadow
persecuted me
in frustrated hours.

i could only see the outline,
its evasive form
cutting to my soul,

i fell to my knees,
covering my eyes,
persecuting shadow filling vision,
a loaf of poisonous bread
expanding in the oven.


-Skot Johnson


a monkey's skull
to trade with my own
after all we are one and the same
clear to my eyes
matching the lies
monkeys and men both blame

This monkey I loved
the monkey loved me
and this was no simple addiction
If anything was left
once the monkey was dead
it would be my crucifiction

He needed to die
many years ago
for working so long in the dark
hurt himself
falling down the stairs
to the basement that he called his heart

the man who found him
did not understand
the monkey he found was an artist
he took a hammer
and a nail
to hang monkey on wall so heartless

His death is long past
a death without rot
his carcass on wall as a martyr
His work was unknown
But his back had well shown
No monkey had ever worked harder