The male creation complains

Who wrote into him his intestines?
Not the mother, his acorn talker
which itself only broke through
in the good saliva of animals,
nor the father, who from his bank
took a smidgeon of the juke
& threw it half-hearted at
the ground of this boy.
This boy, the drinker who
like his mother sips in what
falls from good skies,
though in his effort
only falls on his shoulders
flipping backward what should be
his forward haught,
wet now, a little drunk again,
half-nude, distant to the grass
which grew up like him,
adrown in alcohol and sunlight
but which grew upward
rather than this boy,
who sucked too hard,
bit until some fluid cooked
in his own mouth,
& the root delved too deep
for him once to sleep.
So standing naked on the acid
he creeps up to the vampires
on the avenue, near dark,
no mirrors, looks for the drip
of good blood in good weather,
his head like a pool
itself full of young people,
their potential of youth,
but enervated, half-dead,
sucking on the sky
with the muscles in his jaw.
They themselves cramp
& cook with the whores
who look like his mother,
him the coyote and her
the pup-mother walking
so far off he simply stalks
until he falls, falls,
knows nothing, alien in his head,
jokes to the stern, like millworms
drowsing in the daylight
until their time comes
when they, good-faced bodies,
soak into clothing and breathe
the sweat of this boy,
in summer, now, summer itself
like an unread human shelf
of muscle, and the neglected
good hard bone of screwdriving
blues, the music in his head
like the nothing in his heart
flippant about the beauties
who sit naked, high-breasted in the dark.
What lust drove him into the ground
from where he grew the wrong way
& dug a trench of retarded in his brain?

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~ by Jeremy on August 26, 2010.

One Response to “The male creation complains”

  1. Jeremy,

    This poem is the highlight of my morning. I’m printing it out to enjoy in quiet moments later, as well. You’ve got so many great lines here, but my favorite is, “bit until some fluid cooked
    in his own mouth.”

    You’ve done a fantastic job with this one. It’s also a poem I’m pulled to read aloud.

    Bryan

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