Saturday, January 1, 2011

New Year's Valentine (2011)

Snowball moon
yet quicker
the sun escapes

promises broken
write one hour
revise fifty

the sad fuck kitchen
four legs and a flat back
I just want to watch

come to the hall of desire
I’ll rustle up some grub
remind me to stab you

to have thoughts drift off
like friends dispatched
for success and curing

the supposed-to-be-sleeping gene
screams in the middle of the night
its bloody slaughter of the rest

at 440 rps the official pitch
for pianos I lay me down in
the snow’s glamour of hopelessness

the spiritual way a year burns
what shall it be this time
a litter of turnips or flowers?

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