Total Pageviews

Monday, 6 January 2014

making weight

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
and my fat thumbs
nudge at their empty breasts.

Their red headgear slips;
it protects their conjunctive crust-eyes
from 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 commitment
to 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 good
looking for an answer face-

She made a long stretch of isolation scatter:
an excruciating online infatuation activated heaven, without touching
matter or having to inspect her hand-helds
for imperceptible germs: I accept

the fact that it is only Earth
with 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.


  1. ha. come one you can take a punch...smiles
    and 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...

  2. 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 always come out always, powerful

  3. You 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:

    This 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

  4. wow!!! Your dark visuals bring a whole new level of surrealism and power-house magnificent.

    Great 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. :)

  5. Wow, Arron.

    "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

    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

  6. the words you choose is heavy with emotions.
    powerful verse.

  7. arron,

    feel free to join our poets rally today,
    read, comment, and get inspired while inspiring our peers.

    hope to see you soon.
    Thank you in advance.


  8. Hello, poetic friend:

    After our official visit your blog, evaluate your poetry talent, and consider what you contribute to poetry itself and to our online poetry community, we decide to give you an award so that you are encouraged to write and post more poems, share with our Thursday poets rally or any other poetry prompt,

    below is the link you click to visit our award post and take it to your blog so that your followers know your skills and well, have fun placing this award tag in your poem post, if possible, read our poets on the list

    a sample post which shows that how you take the perfect poet award is sampled below:

    bless your writing,
    keep up the excellence!
    Best regards

    Benji Barratt Clark Twohill Sullivan

    Please sign to follow our blog today, we indeed try to follow you in person or as a community.

    keep writing, keep posting.