A throwing breath

Throws it into a cigarette
until good rot plays its part.
Then halts, ceases in the heart,
unroots a boy, steals a grimace,
throws him into the stench
of falling hips on falling
nods. Doesn’t it stink
when the bladder thinks
it’s overfed on liquor binges,
throws its fill on syringes
and tranquilisers and stops
mid-breath, and sucks on freon
before the breath itself
stops and falls on a nodding head,
says aloud it’ll be enough
and crouches on its own stuffing?
What pleurisy filled an organ,
stepped on a vein, rode its way
up to a man and stuck its part
driving into a full stop?
That is a shimmy, a good enough
way to fill a lucid urine,
then enough to whisper
in the cold and cooling dark
a nothing sweet in its gin?


~ by Jeremy on September 26, 2010.

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