Says the man of many poverties

When the crazy comes holding in one hand
lockjaw and in the other eyeballs two
too few, it’s privacy enough for two.
A poor brain its face made-up its
hind end sagging for the long reek of
dying young and an amiable brain,
functions intact, nerves whole and plentiful.
Mere bodies for safekeeping. One
limbed figure all things being equal
asks the little one it clings to barking,
why a horde of roaming thoughts and not
a bounty? Sillier a plague of sloth-toed
nerve endings each ignorant of the other
than a weather of paratroops, the one
killing between bullied ears, one killing
where a good mirror sights on sighing.
Shortwinded him he says his features
all goofy all inviting, I am a man, only,
reduce me to tenths and I slink hairy
on savannahs my teeth spewing what
a carcass I can’t talk back to gave me,
though this poor brain may talk back,
lowing and civilian.

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~ by Jeremy on June 2, 2012.

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