"welp" poems - Hello Poetry

Who’s to say how He might come back for a second inhumanely heaped-up helping, if we grant that immensity of our assumption He did come kingly first into this inside- out size from a do-you-miss-me- yet’s mirthfully mythical realm I have seen Him lurking in a particle-board fine finish on the thin outer membranes of our estranged and better faces; He’s Higgs-boson omnipresent, but far too theoretical for our broadly practical, turned- away gazes to rediscover There He is now rising in the favela’s gap- toothed grins with fabulously naughty corners this glee-pawed grandpa twists using cur jests his ***** charges imagine as flightless quarrels grey-hooded pigeons would gaggle were they over-stuffed on golden grain And there again on a Calcutta mound’s cluttered conic end, smog-like He slowly lifts with the crust-gnawed, razor-wire crimps of a soup-can’s unconsummated lid as dainty fingers crawl in toward a gelatinous glob still clinging to the powerful pretense it’s meat And there once more, conceding oms, He restless flickers at the margins of blocky beige Beijing screens as crisply clicked clacks circumnavigate the darkling smooth patches and spit-spark a few conscious drips to squiggle out from the babble of noxious red seas Emerged, this welp won’t toddle off to dribble-stain the dressy linens of a made-up nanny’s well-mannered and ornate evil; it will curl up instead, a swaddled yawn with no yearn to suckle under His real mother’s gaping wide and grungy bloused best

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Oct 20, 2010

Oct 20, 2010 at 11:04 AM UTC

francis-scudellari

In the minute coming of His second, all hours turn to dusk

Who’s to say how He might come back for a second inhumanely heaped-up helping, if we grant that immensity of our assumption He did come kingly first into this inside- out size from a do-you-miss-me- yet’s mirthfully mythical realm I have seen Him lurking in a particle-board fine finish on the thin outer membranes of our estranged and better faces; He’s Higgs-boson omnipresent, but far too theoretical for our broadly practical, turned- away gazes to rediscover There He is now rising in the favela’s gap- toothed grins with fabulously naughty corners this glee-pawed grandpa twists using cur jests his ***** charges imagine as flightless quarrels grey-hooded pigeons would gaggle were they over-stuffed on golden grain And there again on a Calcutta mound’s cluttered conic end, smog-like He slowly lifts with the crust-gnawed, razor-wire crimps of a soup-can’s unconsummated lid as dainty fingers crawl in toward a gelatinous glob still clinging to the powerful pretense it’s meat And there once more, conceding oms, He restless flickers at the margins of blocky beige Beijing screens as crisply clicked clacks circumnavigate the darkling smooth patches and spit-spark a few conscious drips to squiggle out from the babble of noxious red seas Emerged, this welp won’t toddle off to dribble-stain the dressy linens of a made-up nanny’s well-mannered and ornate evil; it will curl up instead, a swaddled yawn with no yearn to suckle under His real mother’s gaping wide and grungy bloused best