Archive for October 21st, 2012
Burning Cotton
at terribly transitional moments,
the smell is an iron which has sat
on the shirt collar too long,
the beginning of burning cotton,
of the oxidizing water and steam,
and these tell me I’m about
to die, to perish, but it doesn’t
happen as my mind is frozen, as
I’m extinguished but breathing.
.
Melt into the Stink
Furry monster man in an Everlast
sweatshirt, recalling
the boxing rings with corners
for death, drawing
Mohammed Ali,
rope-a-doping
“Float like a butterfly,
sting like a bee,”
melt
into the stink
of the canvas,
knowing Everlast
is the opposite
of what the brand suggests.
.
Today with the Doctor
I sent her stuff from my hero,
for the example of the truth
of drunks – it’s more authentic
when coming from real drunks,
and I say, It’s always scary looking
at this side from that side – so many stay
on that side.
The elevator smells like fresh diaper.
My brain surfs the grainy side of the home folks art,
art that I wish I could do, especially the green door
with the three windows
reflecting the honest and scary
world, failingly attempting
to block the bad spirits.
.
stillfugue 