My Poems are Landmines (Day 9)

(Day 9 of National Poetry Writing Month.)

My poems are 


set to blow the legs off


if he tries to stop

me from throwing

white chickens

into a red wheelbarrow

and running like mad

through a yellow wood

where two roads diverge.

Not only do I dare

to eat a peach

but I will hurl

its pit

at a Grecian urn

or a bust of Pallus

and sing America

in the process.

I am starving hysterical naked

and the last thing I need

is a coy mistress.

I am here to ravish you

like a three-person’d god,

and you will labor

to admit me.

I am the reason

the tiger is burning bright.

(Can’t you smell 

the gasoline

In these words?)

I am the explosion 

Langston Hughes

warned you about,

the proof that 

Larkin’s mum and dad

aren’t the only ones

who fucked someone up.

The world is a beautiful place

but you don’t need me

to tell you that.

You know I will 

not go gentle

into any night,

that I am 

bloody but unbowed

and still I rise

like the smoke

of a dumpster fire.

That’s how you 

like your blue-eyed boy.

Mine is but to

do and die

while you sit

in your recliner

like a patient etherized

upon a table.

I will take you to sea

in a beautiful 

pea-green boat

and then I’ll 

sink my talons

into your fur and

tear you apart

while comparing you

to a summer’s day. 



About semiblind

Bringing you stark existentialism since 1981.
This entry was posted in entertainment, NaPoWriMo, poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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