In a bathtub

Euphoria in your throat—
bastard thieving all my souls
I have myself taken in—
stop it, you sniffing cat—
the pearl in my nose
I wipe off how it deserves—
busy in creation for scents—
those of Hungary in famine—
what’s the stink of riffs
ears may not push off from—
and incisions on murder victims
playing chess with body parts,
their own, looks like monkeys—
rum elating nervous Huns—
sick flutter in what’s the dirt selling for—
stake them all in the yard
who lie down not killing—
killing to run away from
child with eyes like curtains—
they drip—hound-dog—
whoever birthed this must
have died in a bathtub
as the claw exploded exploded—
euphoria in your throat
taking shade from the heat—
sing to our gasses those
with no fluid to slide on—
like the jar, the tin, the secret
grin of skeletons and females—
those who slide in, or withdraw—
the female what—female what—
creature more like teething young—
the eating the emissions Brownsville—
dark as testicle as red red muscle—
where—where have the lobes gone—
run off with wives like dandruff—
hooker, hooking how hook
the cliffs to push off from so hardy—
it’s a face full of your mother’s cock from here
that I have a breath left full of all her buffaloes—
they have wide jaws, I’ll toss marrow somewhere
and it is the stone of daunting mountains they said watching—
in the inside—the growth plates inside our tibula—

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~ by Jeremy on May 18, 2011.

One Response to “In a bathtub”

  1. That last line is killer. The whole thing flows off the tongue. Do you ever intend for specific pieces to be spoken word or is their rattle from my vocal chords a happy coincidence?

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