Thursday, January 28, 2010

I was a quick wet boy, diving too deep for coins,
All of your street light eyes wide on my plastic toys.
Then when the cops closed the fair, I cut my long baby hair.
Stole me a dog-eared map and called for you everywhere.

Have I found you, Flightless bird? Jealous, weeping or lost you,
American mouth, big pill looming

Now I'm a fat house cat nursing my sore blunt tongue,
Watching the warm poison rats curl through the wide fence cracks.
Pissing on magazine photos, those fishing lures thrown in the cold
And clean blood of Christ mountain stream.

Have I found you, Flightless bird? Grounded, bleeding or lost you.
American mouth Big pill stuck going down.

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