No tyrannical calendar will define National Poetry Month for us!
Carpal Seeple
I want to get Augustan
pass the mustard
make it matter make it
brainmatter where the shattered
cranium just shivs it in the darkened theater of the skull; as in the darkened theater
where a sailor just shivs it a little up the seat of some skirt or suit like
I got a man-o-war in the harbor
but I got a little skiffie on the side; his line is plumb; he brings me nylons
to slip over my enseamed thighs; where he sinks it
makes my zippered spine shimmy flip out just churn
chum cream & turn over like a line
of soldiers on the brow of the estate;
encrusted with brain matter
peering through the bloodsoaked eyelet the raped
bedroom window to where the
paint-chip
lead soldiers
now muster for the scene
now transmit, now black out
in their permanent press dress-lead uniforms
antennaed
bayonets
raised for the splatter pic: roll call: roll camera: let the last girl
pick her way across the battlefield of upraised tibia
shattered and piqued at difficult angles, stripped ligatures
flapping like battle standards in the night; pick on in spike heels
‘cross the spongy fosse; but the upright second regiment
of bone shards is a mighty
blank
phalanx
now
unflappable
her ripped
t-shirt flatters
the bust
that sunk
teeth into a thousand cartons of porno DVD’s
shrunk wrapped and container
shipped from malaysia
& fondling
nearly founders
its contents the regiment
responds & yanks
the moon’s achilles
tendon tight
nails it
to earth’s
anklebone so that the pitch
may be delivered
back on track
sure &
black as
from the rotting charnel
mound
the starlet’s last
gyrating thought
seeps and enflares
time’s tissue
wastes its own field
of vision clots
fetal toxin blacks out spotbleeds
refuses to carry the message which winds
up anyway finds other channels sinks molar
into earth’s
sinusoidal bone and
water table into the spitcurl
of the universe now siezes
now abrades & now abides & now
relaunches & enguts engulfs & now
subsides & now winds up
& here’s the pitch –
If you like what the Rumpus is doing for National Poetry Month, you’ll probably like this multimedia anthology of original poems we’ve run at The Rumpus over the last three years. Available only for iPad. Check it out!
