Arsenic Lobster poetry journal |
Issue Thirty-one Spring 2013 |
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to galilee Alexander Chisum spring is no thing hurt in alabama, unless a clit of clover gripped in my lisp is. pluck’d pucker like cash I didn’t fuck for, I gasp and gleam like a knife through meat, i guess, sometimes. a knuckle of corn shrugs its husk, stormclouds their dusky buckets. someone’s sister struts and cusses, peels her dress like a condom. ‘never smoke a cig so starry’ she says, and I : ‘filthy, lovely habit. a spit-on-my-grave type life-affirming.’ mine’s a black heart barbed with stars, carnations and kind words, a pinup-tit zodiac, a flesh show braggadocio of live nude neon, lub-dub humdrumming of love polyps in rib cages: tintinnabular snapdragons, all pink-blinking, windblown. I’ll not say ‘diseased’ to the rash of peach blossoms, the syphilitic sprigs of thyme. go in peace, go westward, to hollywood, the sea. a pornography of bee- stung blooms lines the highway to galilee. |
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