strangest winter.

2/20/2010

Oh, you foul-eyed beast
come to me in my sleep
with your thin lips
and needlepoint tongue
force it into my mouth
sew up my throat
until my lungs collapse
the only blonde to grace my presence
I'll wash you out with another beer
just like the rest
so well known
so easy to forget
a stain in my mind

Reviews

[Brett Campaigne]

This is the first poem i've read here since i came back that knew the virtue of abstracting the prose from self, so that it can wash over many selves.