Live Grenade

Coats and scarves must come off.
Your perfume trailed ten feet behind you.
We ran laughing through the grass,
on grass…
This car needs a heartwash
This heart needs a tuneup
This tune needs a melody
This melody needs to stop!

!!!!!!!!!!!! ? !!!!!!!!!!

I’m consistently blinded by the drawings
of a 5 year old.
I’m perpetually aware of the words spoken
to me at 5am.
I’m persistently insistent upon my destruction
500 hundred times a day.

The army is knocking at the door and they want a glass of water.

Bluebird is either a love poem or a pirate,
or maybe they’re the same thing and I just am holding
the picture the wrong way. Arrrr!

I’m the captain of a ship of fools and they’re all in my head
where the seas are briny and whitecappy.
A cry goes out for mutiny but I hush them with a lullaby.
They stick their thumbs in their mouths and purr instead.
I wake up to a daydream and at night dream about work.
I guess I am human after all.
What a fucking sad thing to be.

Martians have landed in my backyard and want to borrow a pair of pants.

I’m the flag you plant when you conquer foreign lands,
dripping with blood,
I’m the Wyomingite sky the last buffalo saw
before the bullet pierced his hide.
I’m the clown nose John Wayne Gacy
wore to the party.

Tender kisses deliver venom.
The handsome singer vomits on stage.
My eyes change colors and shapes.
This poem is a live grenade.

Even poetry is a weapon of mine…

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One thought on “Live Grenade

  1. ‘stonishing. !!!!!!!!!!! totally enjoyed this piece aos!
    the kind of twisty moebius of the movement, the numbers sort of repeated rhythms, ideas, imagery that keeps hurling forward (like a grenade before it hits) just to name a few.

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