What is it?
Do you know?
Can I ask you?
Will you go?
–
I see you,
Standing there.
What do you want?
I don’t care.
–
This is me,
retreating soon.
You can stay; please
Leave the Moon.
What is it?
Do you know?
Can I ask you?
Will you go?
–
I see you,
Standing there.
What do you want?
I don’t care.
–
This is me,
retreating soon.
You can stay; please
Leave the Moon.
Prodding dreamily at the space under
My chin. The space where the shotgun would fit
Snugly in. Thoughts that vaguely meander
As I rest under this gnarled tree’s bough. It
–
Seems that it would be no trouble at all
If I was to fall from this place and rest-
Lessly crawl on through. I just need to call
On that one moment’s decision; a guest
–
In no time of neck-snapping Death who yet,
As my host, ushers me beyond.
What remains; a whip lashed marionette,
Shattered and twitching, that will not respond.
A moist fuck
In the temple of taboo.
Siamese duck
Made into stew.
–
Suck drenched wet cunt
As, after dinner, grandparents
Ruttingly grunt
In their political tents.
Frying pan clam-shut cat
Drives me, distancing future from that
Future I planned on my vernal mat.
–
Torpor conquers my feverish terror
In a rigid battle to close the door.