February 14, 2013

from Romulus the chronicler...

Photo by Andrew Syred / National Geographic ©

the epithelial death of Lupercus

it begins in
the removal process
in a sequence
of carted red shift

no one remembers
who planted the bomb
after they have
already been
blown up thinking
whether or not
what they were
playing with
was going to be
explosive if given
over to neglect
and corrosion
as a matter
of weathering
right before
any sudden use

a poem as
a prime number game
a pornographic image
a posture to be corrected
something inside
psychotic insurrection
who what where
why how come
we get paid
to do that

poems as growing cancers
I feel them personally measured
against my lack of motivation
to thrive or feel prizes beyond luck
skill is just practicing kills
without ownership issues

the poem as paper
old times reviewed
like a cabaret revue
what’s new
making glossy scratchy fog
patching what you wear
to mimic Joseph’s coat
of many colors

past the poem
the world
seems like everything
might be fitted
to pocket views
mastering cellular slough
they say Spring
is an ugly thing
in the eyes
of late Winter
the warm again


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