once, a tab of acid
burned the roof of his mouth
snaked through sinuses
into his spongy mass
seduced, he'd worshipped
curvacious dancing bears
rocking coquettishly, playing
heavily discordant piccolos
music hollowed, heavy,
shattering
like most Mondays
like this Monday
like his last family reunion,
and that one porno
he always wished he'd seen
like the devil's sirens--
feared trumptets of nostalgia--
jolting him awake
in the middle of a conference
Where's your hair, man?
Where's the reefer?
How'd your hands get so clean?
About Me
- Sarah D
- "...but it is good to be several floors up in the dead of night wondering whether you are any good or not and the only decision that you make is that you did it." -Frank O'Hara
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