Thursday, January 12, 2012

the party (the first poem that isn't about you)

bourbon bumble bees.
locust congregation in the cold,
underwater kitchen.
so dense it is opaque.

Red hangs dead on her feet,
rag doll on a stiff pole-
pierced right through.

a Clown tips on a broken axis;
equilibrium absent.
louder than the loudest siren,
more extroverted than
saturn's outermost ring.
more extroverted than
the external stratum corneum.

Dreadlocked, professional drinker;
self-talker, performer.
i don't know if i've ever seen him
sans drink in hand.

THAT KID who's falling apart.
brain so altered (but temporary,
TEMPORARY!)
and completely uncontrolled.
cognition: unreachable.
definitely shattered.

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