Death Penalty, 12/10/99
by Greg Pettis, CEDP member

I'm drifting in a slaughter-house nebula
Staring fixed-straight up into someone's eyes who are pleading, being
asphyxiated, strangled
He's been stuck and he's dying and I don't know
What
to do

To care is wrong, everyone tells me so,
I see the bloody slaughter house floor,
The blood of my own kind
Close my eyes
I hear the death machine
Close my ears
Something smells funny, sick, acidic, burning
Close my nose
Now I'm alone, the Alone Individual, and I know the
Crackerjack King is grinning, bestially, my isolation is his victory,
He wants to touch my sensitive spot, my sexuality,
Stroke me to make me feel good so I will forget
And just eat pizza and drive my car and watch the blond bombshell with the
glossy lipstick host the news and drink my beer and watch my TV so I can
root for my favorite football team and masturbate and fuck my girlfriend
and scratch myself and read Time magazine or Newsweek or John Grisham and
maybe go see that new movie, whatever it is

Because, you know, I'm just going to forget all about it
And keep my eyes closed, keep
me
closed,

And I'm not sure the death penalty only kills the guy on death row,
I think
it's killing
a part of me
right now