cold may wind,
blows shadows across a big may moon,
cigarette embers glow orange,
war scars, glass eyes,
crumpled cash, white lines,
diamond rings, gold watches,
purple heart tattoos that bleed busted love red,
sweat drips,
tongues lick wrinkled lips,
butts clench, hearts jump,
flesh tightens, guts wrench,
dusty dim light, cock fight,
step aside in respectful fright,
his name is the chicken man,
you bet your baby's college,
your wife's retirement,
your last GIC,
...and if your not nervous,
you fucking should be.
3 comments:
intense
Dox -- if your intention was to make me terrified of chickens and/or their "handlers", you succeeded. But as usual, there is something else going on here. Something sinister, something grotesquely sublime is coming to a boil. Something beyond human, beyond avian. Something festering in a Bangkok black pit of sin and desecration.
BTW, is that Little Jerry Seinfeld?
I clucked so loud I thought I'd lay an egg. Rat-tat. Rat-tat. That's the rhythm you got. Like a boxer hitting the heavy bag. A fighter jabbing his way through a blog in the late rounds of a defeated day.
Post a Comment