Wikipedia Poem, No. 125

 

You say
puff pastry you say
tax credit is a bulldog

by now she’s
probably lost in traffic
skin darker than guns
my father’s obsessed

it will be hungry
that guy who
makes hot sauce

climbs up my forefinger and into
whatever the girls’ mortal wound —
And I’m all like, bent, reaching
raise my hand to the horizon, beside

el niño spirit; and the exploded
my palm — safety — I straighten, &
down into the garbage where I roach

the Willis Tower, comparing, &
the vile, beautiful blattaria leaves me
and scales its black terrace and ponders
its sudden, liberal transformation — soon

as a way to juxtapose the mundane
condition the banal, blue
body; the salted, post-, uncombed

She didn’t even
take it
or gibberish in a cafeteria line
or bleeding all over Italy.

with Stevie Ray Vaughan


Includes four lines from "I love winter nights..." by Paul Ferrell,
     published in "The Cosby Show" (2015) by Water of Life Press. 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.