Jackson Pollock Dinty Moore Fetal Position

We’re all just one breath away from being rotting meat,
a wick waiting for a flame,
a fetus waiting for a name
We’re all just sizzling bologna in the mercy seat
And a masterpiece ready for a frame
Our artful life,
A sizzling sacrifice
One slice at a time,
we’re turning out real nice
and if we’re patient,
very patient
maybe we will become…
something… Edible.
We’re all just who we are,
ready to ignite or snore
We’re all just in our justification
intentional splatters carefully placed on canvas or concrete
dropped from birth canals on to the street
and forced to feed
We’re all just another creeping creature,
We’re all just walking stew with a beef,
sealed in skin and grief
A cauldron ready to be ripped open to release steam
Thermosealed comfort food ready to eat
We’re all just a pouch of flesh
A pocket of remorse
A vessel of paint
A flame getting faint
A fledgling main course
We’re all just a grip that hasn’t been grabbed
A morsel that hasn’t been stabbed
And if we’re still,
Very still,
Maybe we will be fattened consumers too
Just like the thing that eats you.

Can’t catch any break but broke

Can’t catch any break but broke
TNT the bridges and let the cinders smoke
Penniless and penisless
I stand alone
Watching more heartache
I’m unbroken and don’t get a break
Trudging on amidst the pieces’ wake
Laughing at cruel jokes.

There’re tricks I’ve made to cross the gaps
Retrace new steps,
Learn to laugh
Fuck the ferry, build a raft
Demolished tollbooths’
Exchange rate, now truth
Navigate amongst the uncouth,
Counting on new kinds of math.

With twigs and twine collected,
floating cost-free on
what I’ve erected
lies and debt surely deflected,
navigating wreckage floating
With swift strokes, not motorboating
Still alive, and still emoting
Even with no shore detected.

Published in: on August 6, 2013 at 11:06 pm  Leave a Comment  
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Native tongue

This is not your native tongue
It is magic spells in tonal fountains
Spraying foreign sonnets at tender women
Every huff and breath,
The rounding of your lips
Giving way to bliss incarnate,
Sounds so intent and near
To moisten the ear!
And you speak it so well
I would never know
It did not come from mother’s kisses.
Yet in a tryst such as this
It is clear your fluency
Agrees with me
Each parted lip limbered linguistically
I can translate the vibrations in your throat
And decipher the murmur in your moan
The accent crescendos roll from your tongue
Open wide palate, right off it comes,
Diaphragm heaving tones
Making a language so unknown, but understood.
And here I marvel while you remark
In bothered babble and twisted tongue
Coming together
and coming undone
Conjugating wild verbs, we greet each one
Following syllables like metronomes
Vocal rhythms,
pulsing bones
I know your mouth is a long way from home
But that ease when you breathe and squeeze
The familiar hum from your lungs,
Is something I want
wrapped around my native tongue.

Published in: on August 6, 2013 at 10:53 pm  Leave a Comment  
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