Fake Id

Someone go get the net
there is yet
another crazy
roaming
my padded cell
the brain dead
monitor
with its one eye
glaring at me
asks me to undress
as I struggle
to escape my
designer label
straightjacket
I need to let loose
I want to go shopping
online
send some flowers
to anyone who
knows me
maxing out
my credit cards
before
someone else
steals all of my
identities
and accuses me
of fraud
or of my being them___

by Ted Sheridan

Comments (4)

thanks to Daniel Horne (below) for posting the full version
question and answer he sat naked and drunk in a room of summer night, running the blade of the knife under his fingernails, smiling, thinking of all the letters he had received telling him that the way he lived and wrote about that- it had kept them going when all seemed truly hopeless. putting the blade on the table, he flicked it with a finger and it whirled in a flashing circle under the light. who the hell is going to save me? he thought. as the knife stopped spinning the answer came: you're going to have to save yourself. still smiling, a: he lit a cigarette b: he poured another drink c: gave the blade another spin.
This is a terrible rendition of this brilliant poem, whoever put it on here should be hung. Not only is it incomplete but it is also set out disgustingly wrong.
There is more to this poem and I am wondering why it's not there.