Posted by Erik Moshe on Sunday, August 21, 2011 Under: Poetry


Keep yourselves alive
as sculptures in this aquamarine waiting room
Join the acromegaly brothers
the blue nosed parole officer
the old man with Beelzebub in his gut
the woman with arthritis in her vagina
Ooh, it hurts.
Sit there, twiddle your thumbs
Watch CNN as the anchor shoves
thumbtacks through your naked cornea
Hey, thanks
flip through a Woman’s Digest
and chuckle to yourself in silent remembrance
of your ex wife’s intestines in the backyard,
housing a mole right about now
a mole with a dozen children,
curled up in fuzzy paradise
Unlike a rotund middle aged woman
whose name is probably Priscillla
with synthetic blood sacs for children,
giving me weird looks in between youthful exploration
the innocent little bastar--
I know it’s my job to report on irrelevant matters
but can’t I be a ghosthunter in the hospice hall or something?
I know this city is a cesspool
We all know
and this hospital is an even more putrid swimming pool
of inner city underlings with a predator who’s been biding it’s time
Take your weight loss reality shows
Take your corporate boulevard Huxtable physique
baby rates dying rapidity facilities
and just let the human stone sit
let some toxic sun rays hit it, apply sun skeet
when you open your eyes the next morning,
I hope it’s like trying to open a stubborn cuttleflesh with a carpenter nail
or one of those spike-barbed bacteria cells
Saliva and raspberry jello and parking lot dirt
and janitor cigarette smoke
contract these lungs into a pathetic rising and falling
of imminence
I just need my blood drawn

In : Poetry 

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