Taste Test

Writhecore

Your back swims down
the back alley
its proportions portioned out
in the slimelight
you duck like a
boxer who had his
lights knocked out
in a cave by
batman.

enough death.
we’ve had it up to
——–> here.
you are composed
of the same ancient
molecules as your
enemy.
primordial dust that
clings together
by sheer force of will.
you are a blind
contour drawing
done by a musician
in a frenzy.
breathed onto a page
in time where words
don’t stay in order.

low-flying birds
they stand still
in mid air
and though they
have beaks
not a single one would ever
call the other
a bad kisser.

good morning.
the pizza joint woman
drags chairs out on the patio
in a hairnet,
huge horn-rim glasses.
she chews gum with her
underbite.

a shirtless sheikh
in a turban &
camo pants
waddles into view
after a hairy white huskie.

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