Sunday, October 4, 2009

dump-ed one

that genesis is to genius
black as to clay
gangrene to hand,
hell, to brains and life and intellect, morals and all of it
everything that makes you better than me
yet there it is,
for no reason,
wholly without
the little dog stands
with his tail docked short

nails long clacking along the wood scarred floor
he's a chesty little bastard
bowleggedly tough
his stance
like any other banty rooster with
razors on his skinny scaly legs

makes it all seem kinds normal, don't it

out the window we can see
everything

it is twenty hours to go
but we know we can't finish
nor diminish
creating so many problems
so fast
the patterns swirling
clothes muddled in a heap
molding soggy on the floor
this flood will never leave
you may as well paint the first coat
rather than dress for some explicit therapy

now at ten in the snow is eleven hours to go
there is no word here to assure any of us
the bhodavistas have gone to the country
blocks to be burned
gloves to be filled
the proper way to play with scissors
is neatly at your desk
better to cut your own gangrenous sin
than the neighbor boy
that's what grandma always said
sides, mess with him and the nuns are gonna get you
their metal-edged rulers cut deeper
sharper than any scissors I ever had

they know the sins that swallow us whole
but if they're so special and holy and blessed
how in the world could they ever know
the flesh-devouring, life rotting gangrene of my soul?
any excuse to beat a defiant liar
god helps those who save themselves
and the nuns to help us

but not this one
this one it is not finished
before we get dressed
is one and a half hours
no matter what
one must avoid all dramas

now the floor is empty
butt scars blacken the long leaf pine
the day before in the rain
we never made
here they are on the rack
in the midst
of backwards prestige
the sage rolled his eyes
and lit another
looking at the mess
just another to cut and remove
dead branches nightmares gangrenous hands
take em all out
in the twenty three minutes left
those skinny waifs, their big doe eyes
shut closed, tight with duct tape sealed
just one last time
as even the beautiful
decay

all i wanted was just your blessing
instead
if not
then to the beach
with no more fear of silence
and only seven more to drown

what do they do with em once they chop em off
i wonder?

 

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houston, tx, United States

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