PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I knew something huge was going to happen,

like a lingering ripple made by falling leaves

There is something so desolate about a pond

There is no life on the top

But the belly is fertile and as scary as a

fat circus clown



I was born a grimacing hooligan.



And in the backseats I made my mark on every

window

Every cloth seat was torn, in the same matter in

which I was torn

I pissed in corners like all the free men



There was that day at Bethel Hill

A friend and I found that missing kids sneaker in a

barrell much taller then us

We were digging for old bread to feed that

grungy dog we hated

And there it was, all bloodied and mangled,

like a freshly painted piece of roadkill

We were small then

Small arms

Small fists

Small intentions

Our childhood decompressed into a flatness which

I never spoke of until now:

    Our brother was dead



We were adults now. We knew something huge.

The skin on our bodies peeled off and grew splinters

And we spent the rest of the afternoon looking

at other people's genitals in books



And that's just how it was, growing up in

the bottoms of Virginia

Keep your mouth shut, little one, and take our right

of passage to the grave



You'll notice how things start to slip out, in

the writhing grasp of age

Mouths began to dilate as the audience gathers

Itching to know what you have done

What you have not done

Or the things you won't divuldge that you've done



Listen, you narrow bastards, listen

The sound is tiresome and

it curves to the ears the way lava would

curve to the rocks

And you creatures, you morons, are picking the

meat off each pause in my spine

Big juicy worms,

dangling pink and plump

And I realize now,



hell found a hole. so I plug my finger into it each

time I feel a draft

It reminds me of that dream,

I still shiver at

The unicorn under the deep water,

just waiting

just waiting for me



And for awhile there, I just

sexed my way into womanhood

What was I supposed to do? I had never loved before

late night tiptoe

finding my clothes

leaving lover behind the door

swerving on

snapping telephone wires in half

and that was just the turn, in my century



Oh, when the Winter unties the Spring's hands...

I could go on forever.

So,

the branches decapitated under my feet on those

drenching walks

I could tell the type of the tree by the cloak of its bark

My grandfather stuffed me with peanuts and a painful

story of his pet chicken

I told him I was incapable of feeling sorry for anyone

He stopped talking.



I have limp legs.

I am a true Go-Getter.

I am, every pond.