No one allowed in

Not even barbed wire fetishists

Or concrete expansions

No sexy blue-eyes from the West

Not even loving brothers of art

Or inspirational rebels of Sunday

No flexible IV drugs

Not even spinal taps, SPECT scans, and MRIs

Or doctors from Pennsylvania

No pop artists

Not even previous grocery baggers

Or today’s best interest

No women from the womb

Not even from authors of Mars

Or Vietnam writers and golden makers

No papas from hills and trees

Not even superb bombers

Or home-made cookie makers

No more salty tears

Not even a trace and scent

Or a remainder of my existence.

© 1999 David Greg Harth

99.03.29.01:19:00 @ FLT#116