Outdoing devils

Italics imply a persona.


The Devil is a rube. Rob him,
the father too, the father most.
Take off all the wings
Italians gave their family,
like idiots giving ants things
that are supposed to have none.
Why fly when you can ascend?
Or no ascent. No inflection, accent—
or stream—or flower—
the bare simple flower that made itself—
even has gender, has spite—
grows in spite of wrinkling hunches—
that hunch over their face
the way wings will—like the hawk,
simple as it is, eat shit fuck,
like the rest—like us moreso—
thinking flapping for philosophy
the mouse does not hide if eaten,
how eaten we are—to preach—
deaf anyways always anyhow—
fuck that felt right is rape
for neither—lip or knuckle
afterward in the foamy bath—
like a child making bubbles I bet—
tell me a joke—I’ll give it
to the marching idiot that
is no redder than my cock—
the fish-bone, or the Popov—
tell him how he is, he comes off—
advice through red flesh like
yours embarrassed and never his—
forget the hoof ours has four—
pull it back—arrow is all kid yours—
bearded hoary menace tell him
fire is to eat not to be eaten—
he’ll eat the city—dessert—
will deserve it by the molar
we chiseled with our tongues—
all that is done is by that done—
larvae out the ground others trod
how tread unthinking cattle—
pitchfork in the lobe—speech—
and all personality out of grams—
goblin, the eatery that is digestion
living yet from food there is shit?—
it happens to reflect but
did not ask first—nor will—
asking is the business of rubes—
nor red goat-legged animals—
I won’t ask—I will implode
in a pedestrian, his sister too—
brother cousin step-child all kin—
no difference, hedonism beckons—
yet, yet—boy girl husband wife yet—
I have rights and my rights are
more powerful than yours or yours—
I bought the color red, am obese with it—


~ by Jeremy on May 18, 2011.

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