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david badgerow Dec 2011
my cheeks are blushed in the glow of your midnight kiss
i stand blinking in the corner
i am a smokestack, i rise above roofs and water towers
the space above this city is never populated by heaven
fear of ****** in the streets
in a hotel room
or a bus
bombshell crawling over flesh flashes metal neon
i am a coffee mug gripped by puncture-marked knuckles
exuding white dreams and pursed lips
I went into the dripping door
I drank the yoke of an ostrich egg
I am a hog in sunlight, a dead rabbit on asphalt at dawn
I lift a palsied hand to beg a cigarette.
david badgerow Dec 2011
museums
and televison
soap operas
and rotting memorials

the nation has suffered

i cannot understand

without perspective, we flounder in the dark
in misery
being victimized

for what?

my view
is:

am i wrong
about bears?
david badgerow Dec 2011
the bad news is coming in
we are being radically changed

be realistic
stop poisoning the air and water
stop soil erosion
stop degrading forest ecosystems
stop seducing children
stop buying politicians

realism
informs us
in a cuckoo clock

we
need a coninuous supply
of indifference and violence
toward people

all of us are suffering
recreationally
david badgerow Dec 2011
silence is the enemy of art
to communicate
the greatest art
suggests dissolution

the music
the eloquence of omission
the sudden vertiginous stop
the space between souls
the final paragraph recalls
the graves

that happened to me
a black hole
dense with rejected possibilities
david badgerow Dec 2011
i drank one
whole river of bourbon on
this very night

i smoked two
and a half butterflies
and now i can speak in colors

i took three hits off
this cloudy chick
and now i can sing like a sparrow

i snorted four
lines of sunshine
and now i can pull an all-nighter

i freebased five
pearls from the ocean
and now i can smile much brighter

i injected six
fireflies into my arm
this very night

i took seven
dandelions, and mixed them in a bowl
and now i can tell you all
the secrets of my soul

i swallowed eight
droplets of Hoffman's best blend
and now i can tell you
how this world will end

i ****** nine
of nature's best nymphs
on this very night

i infused ten
different sunsets
and now i can tell you the time
david badgerow Dec 2011
We drink only
for
twists of
dripping hot


time.

We do not know
all the rules.
david badgerow Dec 2011
This sentence is
bits and pieces;
empty manilla folder
postage stamp, but no letter;
a phrase would write of paradise.
feeling
will pass
like every other phase
the dancer
the central movement of the torso
the comportment of arms
a leap,
a winged seed.

So
before
the end,
shout down a street
the consonants will moan
at the ultimate release of meaning.
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