This stinky dummy
So down.
The red amateur headgear
provided by the nurse
does not fit their pin heads.
Like a cabbage patch
I am as thin as index.
I am deprived of body
fluids
and my fat thumbs
nudge at their empty breasts.
Their red headgear slips;
it protects their conjunctive crust-eyesfrom misty hairsprays and other unspecified insecticides:
don’t bite it, suck it
she says.
This polytunnel, so sleek, contains weak kids
on their knees, premature and praying to stunted Strawberries.
Their sharp little knuckles chip at refrigerated
udder-units.
Punch-bag mother, each teat brittle and hook-hung in every corner
of the boxing ring –
Bar one.
Such a stumblebum-son, tooth-
picking offcuts because of a morbid commitmentto the endurance of perpetual punishments
and meat locker uppercuts.
Telepathic spaces creek between feeds.
In your absence
I nest beneath a washing line of pegged-out gowns
and one apron,
flapping alone,
it appears to be panicking with the wind.
Blouse buttons begin
to ping,
flinging gum-shield
blood into the stadia.sports fields come undone and linen baskets
become brimming buckets
filled with testicular cancer.
I look through her half of the bullet hole, then back into
my own face-
book profile: digital trenches lined with the dead goodlooking for an answer face-
down.
She made a long stretch of isolation scatter:
an excruciating online infatuation activated heaven, without
touchingmatter or having to inspect her hand-helds
for imperceptible germs: I accept
the fact that it is only Earth
whirlingwith the worms.
We took standing counts
and turns
like human beings
suckling on
this stinky dummy
so down.
Then nothing
between me and the sun
but my southpaw crossing
Madison Square Garden,
unable to unload the shotgun
because of these beautiful boxing gloves,
these restrictive mittens, your images, they hurt me
so good: bridal, my idol:
my hanging horseshoe heavy weight champion of the dirt –
on wood.
ha. come one you can take a punch...smiles
ReplyDeleteand throw one too...vicious...the look through her half of the bullet hole at the facebook stanza..ha...i like...the second half of this carries a good bit of feeling in it as well aaron...of reaching the end of a relationship or something...
my grandfather told me that being lefties had an advantage in a fist fight, but i learned earlyon to carry a gun...hello Aaron, you hang words on strings of meaning that take a lot of ducking and dodging, and a one minute rest between stanzas...you always come out swinging...as always, powerful
ReplyDeleteily
ReplyDeleteYou just always spin and punch words in a way they shouldn't be spun or punched, yet they align so naturally unnatural that it all fits so well. Your descriptions are as potent as ever:
ReplyDeleteThis polytunnel,
so sleek, contains weak kids
on their knees, premature and praying
to stunted strawberries.
and this line opens the door to a poem all of its own: "She made a long stretch of isolation
scatter". I could quote much more, but it's better read in its entirety. Great stuff
wow!!! Your dark visuals bring a whole new level of surrealism and power-house magnificent.
ReplyDeleteGreat amazing poem and greatly written my friend. :)
You should stop by my blog page now. I've been posting a lot of new crazy poems. Stop by my friend I haven't seen you stop by. I'm back! and ready to speak my mind again. :)
Wow, Arron.
ReplyDelete"I look through her half of the bullet hole" ... Talk about unity. That is a tight connection.
And then this:
"She made a long stretch of isolation
scatter, an excruciating online affection
activated heaven, without touching
matter, or inspecting her hands for
imperceptible germs: I accept
the fact that it is only Earth
whirling
with the worms."
Powerful, scary writing. I've been wondering about you for a long time. I have no idea where you're writing these days. I'm just hoping you're still alive. I know how it is, brother. I haven't seen linking at dverse, and I've forgotten your Wordpress address. I hope you're surviving, keeping that brilliant mind of yours above water and below bullets.
~The Nameless She
the words you choose is heavy with emotions.
ReplyDeletepowerful verse.
arron,
ReplyDeletefeel free to join our poets rally today,
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ReplyDelete
ReplyDeleteHello, poetic friend:
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bless your writing,
keep up the excellence!
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