The end told to get gone

I am prey to knowing one thing and having another
whole body slink bleary-eyed to me, patters in patterns
of footprints rolling their eyeballs in common
drunkenness that ever took a boy. I’ll remind you.
Two cameras, nothing, little less, ever taught you
of lessons this shivering world made more of doubt
that of faith in a family  is a debt to death,
where your boy yawns in slinking death prey to
such strange music my own head dances in it gone.
He eats pancakes cute day one and explodes to puzzle next.
Breast like a white skillet, hard to the finger and soft
to the brain, and then, given how the sun turns, nothing but
ground meat people once took themselves peculiar for.


~ by Jeremy on June 28, 2012.

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