by Red Dog Pieface, Peter Bailey
This publication of Possibles is by Chris Church.
End of a Poem
and in the parking lot
O! the peacocks
screaming their heads off
at their reflections
in the hubcaps
in their zittiness
draws me closer to you
Out of My Life (As in Get
Farewell. You occupy more
of my time while here
than I do.
(Pushpins dropped into the typewriter, indeed!)
to clamber up other’s pinnacles, cribs, taxes.
«Hey, Mom, when I grow up
will my tits grow up?
for Prince Amah-of-the-Bridge
be prepared for “poems, poems, poems”
being pulled out of your ass when
you didn’t even know you were stuck
up by teenage hoodlums there
little sprouts who quote like you
messages burned into stiff leather cuspidors you’d always
assumed were formed by non-winged angels from
the softest ruffs of swans born in mule-
upon the horns of a moon goosing every other mother prepared for “poems, poems, poems”
stars stars stars
over, over, over
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Copyright © 2000 by Peter Bailey