Dewfinger

This poem is about the self-destruction of a lover's ex, the effects of jealousy and rage and a comparison of this spiteful person to their inner temper-tantrum child.

You precipitate your jokes

like a

      dewfinger

you watch FATTEN

               and

                  drIP

           in front of your nose.

You laugh when it falls at your

       feet,

little boy .

booger yourself off onto your sleeve

grime your nose into your black-and-blue

sl l e  e   e  e  e   e  e  e  e   e  e  e v  e

wipe your wrist on the crust of that

       effeminate turtleneck

            black-and-blue

            black-and-blue

            black-and-blue

            black-and-blue 

                STRIPES

The pattern repeats, right up to a

                 SNARL!

Of blonde head.

Your bike tires spit! Gravel

And you snot! Yourself out from our driveway

dus s s ssty eruptions of temper

                driffffffting around you.......

       Mad at your wife.

       Mad at your son.

       Mad at your self.

       Mad at your life.

               Mad!

Hammering Hammering Hammering    HAMMERING

your petals into the grit,

torturing them.

Because they gear ever

                         chink

                   in your life

     around that rusty bike chain

of your life, slipping

because you (control) every little bit of linkage

with just the

                  levers of your

                                     feet.

I bet you ignored! Every sharp pebble your tires lipped

             ignored! Even the little slanted rocks

                         that toed your tires and could've flipped

             you

             and your heart

             across the gravel road,

sprawled on a dead country road under the

           unforgivable blue

                 of

                                    infinity,

A heart grinding to a stop on gravel,

and beating slowly down there.

That's you treading dirt.

Pushing away away way awaaaaaay

                                 from my trailer.

Peddling peddling peddling ped-DUH-LING

in the hot sun.

defense mechanisms SWEATING in your face.

Your ugly, curled Rage Li

                                   P.

               streaming viscous strings of spittle

across your bike tires.

Where your angry bones

          rattle, bead, click.

          Up and down the spokes

in little stacks

   like the abacus

   that accounts for you.

You spun yourself into a gyre of gravel,

proved yourself into an audience of

           sharp! applauding pebbles

that crackled beneath your skeleton.

To prove your dust had been wronged amongst the

     little rocks.

To me.

To her.

To every sharp pebble that populated your helmet.

Author's Note

Every single grammatical notation and word positioning has a semantic meaning, or a slight mental implication. This is not just a scattering of words.

Reviews

[John Phoenix Hutchinson..]

Oh dear(software) but still very readable.

[James William Dyer]

but the uploading software screwed it