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Aug 2011
A greased pig at the county fair,
A roller skating tween chips her tooth,

The *****'s pupils: pinned.
Heavy-lidded gaze notched up: a higher degree of horror.

Ecstasy and agony: life's charged poles, opposing,
I, dysthymic before the blister of try,
have touched too close to life's hot center,

A cliché, a disposable metaphor,
The insulin syringe (use once and destroy) of metaphors,
Oh restless boy (you're a man) you don't see it?

Beyond the sour vinegar of feet and let's pretend,
the mildew funk of gym-stale ****,
the recess bells gave way to sirens.

Oh, valor—Toro—pinned Pamplona,
Gored by c**k, though, not by bull
Cause see it seems—yes, Spain then.

Nothing written really happens, see,
mind to bear this burden.
Tense of verb fit the charge in air,
a crunchy taste like seizure mouth, the sockets blown
some smoke slips out the corner of my mouth, my eye
regards you trying to seem real.

Ross Robbins
Written by
Ross Robbins
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