My good friend Heath Brougher in this phenomenal CTU Anthology!
Their nails-on-chalkboard voices
filled the halls. Every day, I’m,
walking through their swarms,
was drowned by a sea of snootiness and conformity,
invective and thoughtlessness and yuppie echoes
and mirrorism and insult and swine-talk.
Year after year I was subject
to their condescension, the self-made pedestal of ego
from which they shouted down at me,
throwing spears of jagged jibes. Their voices irked:
phony voices annoyed, saturated in selfishness,
became the world, became my routine.
My life growing dimmer by the second,
caked in the snobby twang of their venomous valley-girl and
To this day I’d like to throw their bodies and actions
on the white picket fences of suburbia
that doubtlessly ran along their front yards.
© Heath Brougher
Excerpt from the book “Imperfect Paths”
Foreword . . .
How many people can say they have not walked on rough terrain to get to where they are…
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