Poem: "A Position of Defeat 27"
27.
a wedge of
the suns landing gear
is lodged
between my rotting teeth
the
toothpick rescues bits of wreath
charred fat
and torn masculature
flossing day
and night does not help
the gum
burying the bone bleeds
but the
whole body has to feed
on prime
estate and chinese kelp
mouth
striated with lost remains
i orate with
a nasty kink
to the blind
glass above the sink
breath
smelling of dead people’s brains
Comments