Page 67

By Jack Joseph Smith

Hit Something sharp; a stone you fell on, a corner top, outside the door now it's war Rock and roll isn't good enough, let's bust This blone over here is to drag to haul Let us take a boy and begin with him Isn't cherry an old car son You better make the sigh of the cross Care is up your mother's ass; sounds familiar, don't it; cross in my gut, make my lonesome, first Killers get to go back and kneel, just like anybody else Respect dashed picked up again and watched Curl your ass and take thee to the wooded area Lost as the last touch, ley loose; my God, this thuder is right on, A CLEANING

Original Scan

AI Interpretation

GPT

Injury, war, piety, thunder, and street brutality are collapsed into one ritual where killers still return to kneel and the ending becomes A CLEANING.

The page turns impact into ritual: falling, war, the cross, killers kneeling, and a violent wooded removal all sit in the same field. The final handwritten phrase, A CLEANING, reframes the blow as purification without making it morally clean.

Claude

Killers who return to kneel — the poem collapses injury, war, piety, and street violence into a single ritual where devotion and brutality are performed by the same bodies in the same space.