Wednesday

masturbate to procrastinate

some horse
this war
if i may
and yet
to revisit
(this song, that meal)

chapped and grey
sewn into the belly
some horse
before burying
a western
(swagger, that)

quite literally
like a wasp

and this,
that nothing

such a nice
li'l thing

rolling storage
bind through bonds
for a coda; coat closet
other locations
this melancholic
locus, goodness

i looked and looked
i'm serious
and all i got
were charred
unidentifiable
a graduated

trajectory
something like
autobiography
unfortunate
and undeserved
about an about

2 comments:

Ryan W. said...

I thought of saying this before I remembered you have a twin: you have beaten your doppleganger at its own game. for now on, when you write a poem, it should be this one. I bet people won't notice for a while. that's how fresh it is, like wonderbread still on the conveyor belt. the wonder air still sluggish in the wonder crannies, like air that doesn't yet realize it's been born. STOP

bender said...

one day i will write a poem equivalent to a krispy kreme donut fresh off the belt. then i will know that the time to kill myself has finally come.