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“A bad boy is a good boy with a sad story.”—Mac Wellman

Certainly I’ve torn starlings apart

with my bare hands,

 

while smoking a cigar

watched a pack of ravenous wasps

 

methodically inhale a horse’s head    

until only remained

 

that glorious desecration. 

 

Color always wins.

Color wins always.

 

Color always wins.

Color wins always

 

but some blood lasts

long past

 

midnight’s red.

 

Clockwork,

when I was an abortionist

 

I used to whiten my teeth

every 3rd Thursday of the month.     

 

In the summer when it’s bright out, 

flesh flowering everywhere

 

in sight,

I miss that job.

 

At my back the sun

flaws against

 

the evergreen grove  

like some

fore-

suffered

 

pre-

destination

 

and I’m suddenly fussy.         

 

Surely my mother loved me

too much or never enough.

 

 

Get back. 

 

 

How

matters

 

more

than

 

what.

 

Posted 10/29/17
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