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

impaled by barbershop poles
Apollo Creed seethed in the manger
tonguing coffin cheesecake
panting from Byzantine miles accrued by crawling
through urchin blood that was to be extracted
by a hypodermic straw

tower of babel caretakers
were told to coat the monument’s crusty scales in slave saliva
(simple enough request at the behest of the saliva givers)
we salivate like the indecisive monarches we are

splinters in the lampshade
that hold old gold goblets close to mouth
because it's impulsive, mostly

wired the horseman’s jaws shut
his steed too
a tree of hatchets
fragments of a black dog
parable insecticide

marble grandmasters
with chessboards of flesh
stand firm in the rocking chair graveyard

you call it surreal
i call it necessity
a matter of digesting uneloquent content beatrixes
of right and wrong in a published devilscape

please accept this poem.

In : Poetry 

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