Two PoemsBilge Water
I am very into this thin brunette and thorough slicing of a throat
which, in a sense, belongs to me and in another
has arrived complete
beneath the Christmas tree,
real as bilge water
spilling backward through the gut
of a pet rat named Normandy.
Downtown and alone I ran across Main street
with my head flat
and consciousness sitting in the coffin
of other men’s
All the markets have significantly overflown.
I remember a plane and a porno magazine
going over Chelsea Projects
and managing to shout
“Chelsea Projects!” before passing out
as a result
of 5AM and marijuana.
my thorough slicing of a throat
which was mine
in a sense and
return to SHAMPOO 37
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