The Contortionist Lagwagon

In a chalk dotted line
Draw a kid, left behind
Severed limbs in harmony
Strumming from a few good deeds

Carry it to survive
To a bed half alive
Held before a dozen times
Deep inside a funeral for a friend:

Runs in portions like film clips
Run, run
Rundown the list
The memoirist
Like kindling
Burn, burn, burn, and burn down

I will stay inside
The saved
It's a good mourning
They will ignite you (soon)
The doomed
I will write for you

Of a boy, damaged goods
Of a bench, understood
For a spell, the soul resides
In a yellow chalk outline