Tuesday, August 25, 2015

21. ENTER TO FLOG MY WARES

There is a three-foot replica
of a Coca-Cola bottle
sitting like a Buddha
across the street. I’ll say!

It’s only there because
I’m bleak & blank in these
lonely days. Six-foot evil
hiccups are coming out of me

because of this over-priced
coffee. It’s real mud. I’m
fingering the hole in the
wooden chair. I’m “playing it”

like Tibetan finger-cymbals.
Nineties-isms are thrown
around me. I just want to
take the hand of a stranger.

I want to take the land into
my body—the land that
we once walked together.
What are you waiting on?

Destroy my whole self—
let no trace be found! 
Stomp my already-sprained
ankles until they bleed!

The white of my skeleton
is showing through my flesh;
the base of the parietal bones
of my skull is bare!





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