Thursday, August 17, 2006

Canto The Tubing


Things in jars collecting wounds
Are nice to talk to often.

Some trailing winds of white insecticide
Offer cab fare, bloody decent

Or narwhaled up inside, you might
Consider the bounty of spoiled ham

Incarcerated delight like a knife
In a light switch.

That’s not code either.

Or, if you ask, the Shiksa plate
Comes with a side of pre-ringed intestine

And guilt like mm, mm, mm some
Body stuck a whole fist in an

Twist it, twist it, twirly bird. If you
Asked. That’d be the best way.

That or the tube.


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