words that hang like shutters
from broken hinges.
words that hover like nurses
after surgery.
words that splatter like
thin remorse.
I heave with sickness
when they arrive.
I spring with ebullience
when they leave the ** dunk
parts of my mind.
these words
these ********* words
that show up in Pontiacs,
in Plymouths, in Pintos
these nonsensical,
satirical,
antiquated words.
they charge at you
like a dead bovine
swinging from a meat hook.
they crawl towards you
like a silverfish
out of the sink drain.
they creep up on you
like an old ***
rattling a change cup.
why? I ask myself.
why does this happen?
I don’t want this kind of ailment;
give me
bee stings
or bedsores
or steam burns
but not these words,
these words that linger like shingles
across the ribcage of burning torment.
I pray without ceasing
towards a signified God.
I pray for simple sacrifice;
I want suicide rather than poetry.
I want a cow without milk.
I want a statue without structure.
I want a woman without grace.
I can feel the floodgates opening soon
and I think I’m going to puke my guts
out all over this page again.
Nov 22, 2024
Nov 22, 2024 at 11:45 AM UTC
words that hang like shutters
from broken hinges.
words that hover like nurses
after surgery.
words that splatter like
thin remorse.
I heave with sickness
when they arrive.
I spring with ebullience
when they leave the ** dunk
parts of my mind.
these words
these ********* words
that show up in Pontiacs,
in Plymouths, in Pintos
these nonsensical,
satirical,
antiquated words.
they charge at you
like a dead bovine
swinging from a meat hook.
they crawl towards you
like a silverfish
out of the sink drain.
they creep up on you
like an old ***
rattling a change cup.
why? I ask myself.
why does this happen?
I don’t want this kind of ailment;
give me
bee stings
or bedsores
or steam burns
but not these words,
these words that linger like shingles
across the ribcage of burning torment.
I pray without ceasing
towards a signified God.
I pray for simple sacrifice;
I want suicide rather than poetry.
I want a cow without milk.
I want a statue without structure.
I want a woman without grace.
I can feel the floodgates opening soon
and I think I’m going to puke my guts
out all over this page again.
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