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Concussion Protocols

John Jessup Kennan 1953 (Pomona)

Concussion Protocols

She plucked me from a field once
And carried me awhile
The underlying melancholy
Clothed in overriding smiles
The loving of a lunatic
Paints laughter over all the pain
Oh, I wish I'd never gone to Oz
I wish I'd never found my brain

She paints me such a pretty face
In her image, dressed her way
She hangs me up outside her door
To scare the delusions away
But these crows just keep on coming
Bombarding me with noise
She insists that I should answer them
In someone else's voice

But I'm just a gargoyle on a stick
An impostor posing on the ground
I might look just like a joker
But really I'm a depressed clown

An echo in a hollow chest
Pumps and pistons frozen there
She brought me plasma in a can
Full metal jacket underwear
The loving of a lunatic
Paints laughter over all the parts
Oh, I wish I'd never gone to Oz
I wish I'd never found my heart

A self-consuming heartlessness
Looks for reasons not to seize
In a field full of poppies
In the middle of a freeze
She wants me to feel everything
Ain't that just the unkindest cut?
Babe, please don't make me cry like this
'Cause you know it's gonna rust me shut

This motor purrs so sweetly through
The streets of imitation hell
I might look like a fine-tuned machine
But I'm just another empty shell

She brings me cat food in a bag
And keeps me sentry at her door
The battles keep on coming
Soldiers in an endless war
This Kansas chick's a loonytoon
Who is it that I really serve?
Oh, I wish I'd never gone to Oz
I wish I'd never found my nerve

With the valor of a king of beasts
She beseeches me to roar
But I've misplaced my dentures
I don't wear those fangs no more
I just mostly keep my mouth shut
To hide this goofy toothless grin
And wish she would return me
To those familiar woods again

So intensely I'm unfocused
So easily I'm smitten
I might look just like a lion
But really I'm a scaredy kitten

Their beady little eyes express
A feathered scavengers' desire
The crows at harvest times harass
Their noisy caw-caphonic choir
The fluttering creates confusion
Winged monkeys hover over fears
This wicked witch keeps setting fire
To the straw between my ears

These burning thoughts just keep on coming
Bombarding me with noise
She insists that I address them
In someone else's voice
But this misplaced identity
This painted face, these dime-store clothes
This pole that's running up my back
Just brings the mocking of the crows

I'm just a gargoyle on a stick
An impostor posing on the ground
I may look like a joker to you
But I'm really just a depressed clown

And the Wizard's an impostor too
He lies at us through HD screens
He paints us such a pretty face
Through the wizardry of morphine
In the glamour of Emerald City
A carney barker hopes you buy
But he can't fly this contraption
Any better than he can lie

'Cause we got a fancy little watch
Shaped like a fancy little heart
And we got us a certificate
Which tells us that we're smart
We got a medal on our chest
Which assures us we are brave
But Dorothy never left the farm
There was never anyone to save

I'm just a gargoyle on a stick
A scaredy cat, an empty shell
If she ever makes it out of Kansas
Only her fancy heart will tell

 © John Kennan 10-22-19
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Submitted by rankstranger7 on May 24, 2021

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    "Concussion Protocols" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 23 Jul 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/100724/concussion-protocols>.

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