I dress out of season
for these trees. The coolest wedge
of an april moon
drowns my tongue in a fury
of budding. Such solemnity
she limns through what she wants
to believe: as if there were
nothing between her but
the sky and the poem, staggering
--"Young, dumb, and full of cum"
A man spoke to them from
lying on bascule bridge, asked
"You okay?"
Yeah, I guess. The end of her
umbrella smells
of burni ng hair along
the guts of clifton ave crunk
mother loose, knows
karate
--There's Sirens Back There-
"You got some nice things,
mr or mrs America; I like
throwing them at you"
You don't know what
a badass motherfucker
I am. I gargle sliced moonlight
sets little fires licking
the hair she so
ardently believed in.
It's true she'd heard those
birds before:
"--fucking the shit out of
you mom
ffucking, fucking it
fucking the shit the shit
the shit out of your mom
Lewis LaCook
Director of Web Development
Abstract Outlooks Media
440-989-6481
http://www.abstractoutlooks.com
Abstract Outlooks Media - Premium Web Hosting, Development, and Art Photography
http://www.lewislacook.org
lewislacook.org - New Media Poetry and Poetics
http://www.xanaxpop.org
Xanax Pop - the Poetry of Lewis LaCook
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