He proposed to me at Disney World
and I loved him anyway.
He’s discovered his own brilliance at 22
It’ll ruin him early and completely.
The Ouija Board said he’d die at 33,
like Jesus he’s living fast and loose.
His sleep is a menagerie, a night-
time sound machine, all owls and lions.
He drank 2 liters of gasoline
and lived to tell it, used the fuel like sickness.
He punched his arm through a window because
of the gasoline. Swastika-shaped scar tissue.
He is at least 9 feet tall
and contrary as a tree limb.
He bought me diamonds and I lost them,
he bought me more and ******* them into me.
He liked to clamp his lips around cold cat ears
when he had no air conditioning.
His voice was an engine dying, choke and hold,
growling for new air and old adages.
His name walks in front of him, announcing
the second coming and the first going.
When he was sick or scared sick, he’d wrap in
his sister’s pink scarf, only that one, only pink.
He told us to be strong like men but act like women
so I wanted to be a doctor that always did the dishes.
His love was a closet too small for two peoples’ clothes
so I packed it in boxes and burned it on the sidewalk.
His eyes harbor the whole world: bombs, bicuspids,
A wink that could **** a small school of children.
He makes proverbs that tell the time
not minutes though, but centuries.
Jan 1, 2013
Jan 1, 2013 at 3:30 PM UTC
He proposed to me at Disney World
and I loved him anyway.
He’s discovered his own brilliance at 22
It’ll ruin him early and completely.
The Ouija Board said he’d die at 33,
like Jesus he’s living fast and loose.
His sleep is a menagerie, a night-
time sound machine, all owls and lions.
He drank 2 liters of gasoline
and lived to tell it, used the fuel like sickness.
He punched his arm through a window because
of the gasoline. Swastika-shaped scar tissue.
He is at least 9 feet tall
and contrary as a tree limb.
He bought me diamonds and I lost them,
he bought me more and ******* them into me.
He liked to clamp his lips around cold cat ears
when he had no air conditioning.
His voice was an engine dying, choke and hold,
growling for new air and old adages.
His name walks in front of him, announcing
the second coming and the first going.
When he was sick or scared sick, he’d wrap in
his sister’s pink scarf, only that one, only pink.
He told us to be strong like men but act like women
so I wanted to be a doctor that always did the dishes.
His love was a closet too small for two peoples’ clothes
so I packed it in boxes and burned it on the sidewalk.
His eyes harbor the whole world: bombs, bicuspids,
A wink that could **** a small school of children.
He makes proverbs that tell the time
not minutes though, but centuries.
Not particularly poetic, but fun to write anyway.