You’re something simple

That moving thing. The interests
old men bring who sag—
wrinkling of ball and bag—
islands between—the Bible
for birdshit falling on—
who’s got to run when running needs?—
la-la-la in a death rattle
she’ll put out bank-telling—
a snake grows on your ribs—
curdling up, like a mean bubble
that destroys itself—a toad,
honey-sugar is a toad sweating eyes—
so intense. Oh so intense. What blend.
You’re something of a john.
You’re something easy as collapsing.
A gang in one feeble shiver
who shivers at the yelling night.
With me the personal blight.
Rocks—we call ’em all stones
for perchance a professor listens—
glazed-over idiot cock in his wall—
lime and gooch together like blunt
axes two for every English jaw—
know who grins when you talk,
talking ingredients out how—
how carrot turns to pistol
in the hand of Joey—the ‘roo
kicking in genital and dirt—
so heavy on the palm the artist—
the killer the many the killing many—
blisters of a thyroid cue—who—
who may gather the roads up
to crush them back in pieces—
like pieces of a skull all eight—
smoke in pores made of cumin—
so hot, they are all fucking hot

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~ by Jeremy on May 19, 2011.

One Response to “You’re something simple”

  1. Right on, JB. Who else would come up with the genius line “kicking in genital and dirt-” – what an image. Kinda says it all.

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