Paraplegia

just try to run
when those fuckers
grab your goddamn
legs with their cold clammy hands
and burst their bloated ego's
on the needlepoint
of your compassionate soul
and judge sentence and imprison
until the bottle is empty
of your dreams thoughts and hopes
and when that last cigarette is out
and even the lucent glow of
the moon won't pacify the fire of your soul
throw a wrench in the gears
of that old machine
and bring yourself up on your feet
to go down and drink with the leeches
the tears come easy when
the mace bites at your
lungs and your eyes
and just when everything seems so important
you'll become lost like a shadow in the sun