Monday, August 27, 2012

Confession Grenade, the first

Near the whelpbars isometric
Of the tortured Judas
Window, I dug out
The carbon of my property
Slip.  In the end, there
Was no yellow-cake
Uranium on its way,
Draped over the booking
Desk, from Nigeria.
I put my belongings
Back in my teeth
And looked at myself—
A blather variorum of geishafocus technology--
Like I was a ticket to ride stub.

I found a pencil with “Believe
Achieve Succeed” written on it.
The car was tired and cynical,
Like a Powerpoint lamentingly focused.
Faithful to my searchlight cursor,
Fruitbat of a joystick
Halfway said to the night,
I have sewn the ulterior mountain
Of sound salt and stained searchlights
Blathering blue buoys on the sluggish
Corolla, the harbor-prefix-of-praise.
The least thing said, speaks: “My
Eyes are dirty ice of fiberglass goodbyes.
In the name of Cable-TV security &
Fast Food Availability
I do negotiate with terrorists.
Life’s a messy weapon & its
Skeletons—Pilates of flesh—
Must wash hands
Before returning to work.”

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