Sunday, March 31, 2019

poetry

it comes in movements
like those crawling in my bowel
i want to write
i want to take a shit
is that a song?
a poem?
an urge to purge from my heart
to my toes i want to let feelings flow
like hot lava spewing forth from
 mount saint helen's gaping maw
harry trumans cats mewing and clawing
inside my ship-wrecked home
my body, spirit, soul
landlocked
un sea-worthy
a lost balladeer i am
a stranded dna mess
a blob of skin wrinkled a
stinking sack full
a pile up of bodies and blood
and shit and cum
i have a flower for you
the worst free-flow i've shat out in days.
i fall silent.

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