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david badgerow May 2013
someone robbed the Glendale train
last night
while i was peering into a dream
i was dropping pennies down a dark well
when i woke up
i was ******* into a ***** kitchen sink.
david badgerow Apr 2013
i'm still a poor *******,
i'd still give a canadian a cigarette,
probably won't ever **** a man
but if i do,
he'll die with my
respect.
david badgerow Apr 2013
i remember that night on your front steps
smoking cigarettes and talking with your mother
while
i cradled your heart and
you cried on my chest

i remember middle school english class
and your first thong,
pink and white and blue

i remember we made that bourbon summer
last until december

i remember bottle rockets and champagne
the morning your brother died

i remember carrying you home
in the rain
the day after you escaped from the hospital
and you cried then, too.

i remember lying on the cold ***** tile
of your mother's kitchen
whispering Neruda in your ear
shivering & sweating with you
that night we took ecstasy

i remember the first night
you let me slip an honest prayer between your lips
david badgerow Apr 2013
i am a citizen of the terrible landscape
preaching to savages
hair-raised, growling and
sniffing each other.

& the wind has
not a penny to spare
for the frightening world

i am the thought provoking senator
of this state
i dance naked on broken wrists
and beer cans full of tobacco spit
david badgerow Mar 2013
my mind is crazed
on cartoons and
my lungs absorb my own
existence in a cigarette.

i am perched on a roof
the green dusk sky stretched
out like a beach towel
above me.

thirty-four stories up
and i hold the moon in
a cradle.
david badgerow Jan 2013
she washed off all her make up
with the hose from the garden
as the radar sun sank below
Nelson hill

i watched her dance and strip
in my bedroom
like a ballerina behind a smoking gun
she asked if i liked what i saw
and i said nothing

instead i sat in front of her burning
an awkward leaf of paper between
my busted lips
while her hips in the mirror
got the best of me

and then all at once
like a building's collapse
i confessed:
don't release me until it's over
this is the first time i've loved you.



that night
we sank to new depths
beneath
the warm molasses midnight moon
lying on the cold kitchen tile
of my father's house
barely speaking.
david badgerow Dec 2012
i sent a postcard
from a deserted train car
but you threw it away and
wept over the way i wrote your name--
the last time you saw me
i was wearing a pink carnation
in a pin-striped suit
but i traded it on a cold night
nearly three years ago
for a swig of rotgut wine
and a
*****
postcard.

--now i'm waiting for you
to turn into a paper bird
and burn
into
me.
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