Sunday, August 19, 2018

a real poem




the insolent embolisms of the baroque
are patiently encapsulated
in the querulous cornices
of a watercolored zeitgeist

and the abandoned ashes of
a forgotten auto-da-fe...

boo! boo !
fuck that weak shit!
let's have some real poetry!

attenuated bilaterally in the dolorous
fortuitousness of the moment...

dolorous is right, asshole!

get him out of there!

boo! booooooo!!

all right, how about this

it's three in the morning
and i've finished my pint of wine

and i'm taking a shit behind safeway

and it's hard, it's hard
but i'm almost there

and suddenly
a car drives down the street

in front of the parking lot
and stops

a cop car

a cop gets out

i shuffle back into the shadows
with a stab in my guts

ohhhhhhh!
it moved back in a little

and the cop strides across the parking lot
it's a lady cop

with something in her hand
and i try to move sidewise

like a crab
with my pants around my ankles

and the hard turd stuck halfway out my ass
and she hits me full in the face

with her flashlight
and she says

"this is it, big boy -
the end of the line"



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