Thursday, December 10, 2009

Kalashnikov

Further than Alpha Centauries twin suns rests (at the
natal apogee) my cosmic string. It is related to
birth. I lost it.

Pale vacuum delivered globe. Also, between
birth and my current departure my body disconnected,
cells became islands between frozen space. One piece.

I am margarine and bone.
The feeling of sitting down inside an armored car while taking
hits by B-40s is unspeakable.
Body of tissues while senses wreck
havoc the heart aches stress no damn good thing my adipose tissue must burn.
Open cluster in the semi major axis. No longer shocked, consigned.

AM blazing when I use the 175. AC asking
me if I want assistance beans and motherfuckers, I yell.
Bodies are HOT outside. A stellar wind and in the soldier face
a reflection of a nebula. I did this between Opposition and the Occult.
I am a fucked up bummer.

Lament and mourn, insulted throbbing heart. The metaphoric
rock does not melt. There is yet time. I don't know to what however.

2 comments:

Jenny said...

PO,

Your poetic explorations are so interesting. This one has a welded quality, but the lines are still lithe. Your sense of humor is of course brilliant too.

Thanks!

Megan said...

"I am margarine and bone"

brilliant line. one of many.