The mood digger’s coffin

Pretty that sun the boy on it slim Phaethon he
taught me how to drive mumbled something about
his chain-smoking father the county electrician

before he went off to Mexico said he had relatives
who make dinner of the fields they shelter us poor
cinaedus seen too much of this scrutinous Southern sun.

What he did to sleazy Cupid’s house likely I’ll never
forget that toxic wooer him he spent twenty years writing
odes to asthma and kept a sty all the young folks slept in

sighing every minute their discontent their neurons weren’t
brought up in Tchaikovsky their eyes weren’t suffered Picasso’s
squat vivisection though we all wind up with faces much disturbed.


~ by Jeremy on May 4, 2012.

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