Wednesday, December 11, 2013

drafts of unfinished poems

I fell in step with the graveyard,
altering my pace to its spacing of stones,
halting where it held itself aloft
for the tableture of time.  My feet

were tricked into this terpsichore,
tortile, tense, like trying to dance
with Mount Rushmore.  The memorials
seemed wallflowers, a lastchance prom

as I stood at last in stride of stasis
begging each slab to be my deb
my date: their names filled my waltzcard
with time's promised twist.  Stumbling

I tripped their choreographed epitaphs;
I bopped those highschool-hop deaths.


Wetdream radiators hiss through the slum-room
I sublet deep in the depositions of dilettante;
flags I shoplift from the United Nations Building
drape each icky splinter of my lap; lame ledgers
caress me; every inventory of reality ends up
recap; my overdue rent has Croesus nervous;
defunded as regularly as ash-trojans and assass-
ination rumors how routinely I lie, my lips
rent by hyena-starved laughter; my warts want
to go public; poop-pills slither me slower than
sandpaper eels; this ennui confers no libration
final enough to accord yours; adolescence n'est
ce pas; hot savior bullseye bait, another giant rind
of nose tongue; all futures rinse away unless they
use atrophy shampoo; icicles clutching at pigtails
plunge past phone-thin panes; my navel's diarrhea
chops my wig off: pincer earpods pierce home.


No comments:

Post a Comment