Monday, November 25, 2013


cross a whole bunch of lines
grains of sand built up under toenails
mild discomfort expands rapidly
as you finish making scraping boundaries
shadow already catapulting past
gets to the point where you're just breaking backs
hopping from line to line and flying
trapeze style over the flaming remains of social convention
that word makes me imagine a whole auditorium filled with your type
it would be noise canceling itself in a conference room near an airport or pier
you wouldn't need no steenking bodges
go on you know you want to cross another one
break down your own neck
deal away your own deck of morality
claim everything and own nothing in the name of youthful vanity
toenails longer than they should be
dark grains almost like jewelry in the tender folds between
nature's own pixels displaced
constantly stimulated and simultaneously constipated
assessing what the conventional limitations might be
in order to race through them a screaming nude attacking
society's negative hang ups
our tiny shriveled shame exposed
pants pulled down we try not to cry in front of them
destroy the other person's face and head
use a blunt heavy object if possible
repeat a forceful downward striking motion
once dominance has been established
I guess this is it
where the horror sets in and poetry can't
this is my turn to take my own advice
eat my own lunch blood up to the armpits
made up of smoldering remains myself
head caved in melon
hot and rotten from the sun
so we won't have to look
watching my own face fold again
crossing some lines some might say
right as rain to wash wash wash this
hard to focus on criticism from this position
cross some lines and break away
bolt for the fence they may not shoot
the black metal of their guns
just something else glinting in the dark

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