Sunday 5/29/2011 12:28:00 AM

we are where the river ends. flowing vigorously into the void. we are the laughter. gods as they choke on dirty jokes. the pinch in their chest as they double over. insect bites to be scratched until they hurt.

if i cannot climb it must be the fault of the ladder. if i cannot see it must be that the lamp is defective.

the monkeys play in the garden. pitching their shit like fastballs at bunting gods. sacrifice. the desperate tactic of a charmless con.

chasing truth. that saturated tampon she hides between her legs.

i add. and subtract. as all numbers are wont to do. the calamity of flesh. as it bruises the math. deep indents. the years are fly paper. all the dying things stuck there. broken mirrors. vapid with so many reflections.

the simple gods of simple people. sandpaper rubbing against. the illusion of skin. the ample gods of liars and poets. pressing the itch deeper.

I could've worn them had I tried. this bellowing purgatory. simmers and boils like a nervous infection. the eager beast scribbles on the glass. worlds much smaller than I recall.

in stiff puzzle pieces. the picture is drawn. in loud storms. the thunder shouts. trying to drown out the whispers.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2024. All Rights Reserved.