Sunday, March 3, 2013

3 mar 2012

a cloudy day in Santa Cruz
I'm well again after a bout of food poisoning
waiting for delivery of an Ikea bed

with a plastic sack for a head
after Lillian-Yvonne Bertram

Hoping to be stuffed
with wine & chocolate.
Darkest red.
To live a super-strong life
I hold a cardboard insert the way my human holds a titanium plate.
But I am discarded oil.
The dump bares its leavings picked through like a squirrel in the road.
I fly off in a sudden whiff of methane,
the plaything of an orphaned urchin.
It bats around with splintered planks of maple.
Out: my emptied flavor.
I fear I might be punctured. Or I am a lung of airholes.
I beg for Scotch-style reconstruction.
I beg for someone’s Medicare card. A pot sleeping stopover.
Some Epoxy gel.

Dating Patton

When I’m too busy
I pretend
I’m dating Patton

and pissed

we couple
a couple of
war horses
big on the scene
in our own minds

not minding

we say anything
to get it done
we feel anything
to get it done

and when we’re
done with each

like sparklers

we plant ourselves
in the ground
like neurotic Dobermans

leaving a mark
waiting to grow

into two
pains in the ass

1 comment:

  1. today's offerings are splendid! I'm grinning.
    Spent like sparklers, like a neurotic Doberman, I am a lung of airholes.