Thursday, August 11, 2016


His smile writhes with life, a smile full of eels,
with maggots instead of teeth, his throat a burrow
for a thousand wriggling fingers he digs
into the brick and begins to scale
the side of the building, nails finding purchase
in the mortar, while all about him
pale pink peonies tumble through the air,
dropped from above to plop heavily to the ground, he leaves
a sticky trail behind him as he climbs, bits of skin
and hair clinging to the wall in his wake,
wet scabs, petals like peeled eyelids, scraps
of glue-encrusted velvet, he reaches the roof
and squats and drops his pants and lets loose
a stream of nectar that drips down toward
the sidewalk, spelling out his signature
in steaming cursive across the scattered blossoms.

No comments:

Post a Comment