A difficult napkin to write on

Cockeyed and needy whose very breath
pulls fat from chickens far away
so used to him, the prostitute bull.
Too good to throw a little dollar
to an old slut, wants instead this one,
unwhole, dressing down a prince
or a lunatic meal made minced.
Smoking here but he does not,
fuck though, got sweat and ugly hard
incense burning all up at the window.
Yellowing fast the veiny blanket
some queen pulled over the rest of me,
what’s good on top and never free
or quite enjoyed slow with tea.
Instead they pay and pay to smell
or pose me like a sculptor ought,
leg there and this way then that,
got to blow him calling out stick woman
and round man fat. Did I mention
sinks and my map of where they’re at.
Once knew karate, now know my genes
get left for company with eighty proofs
slurring out their actor proteins.
Cows herd away from a clotted sky,
don’t they, will stray from their sty
if it suits them so, unlike this guy,
this hour of brooding milk he’ll cause me
hard like he’ll want it on the ceiling
doing surgery on me anesthetised.


~ by Jeremy on December 21, 2010.

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