at the barbershop
jack the barber whips the cape
around my neck
i observe him in the mirror
attempt to clean up my skull
every few minutes
he uses a large shaving brush
to wipe the stray clippings
off my forehead & face
it occurs to me that jack
is a sort of cosmetic mortician
for the so-called living
later he puts some shiny gel in my hair
flips the front up
when he's all done he shows
me the back of my head by holding
up a hand mirror behind me
i nod in approval
he finally brushes fine smelling
powder on the back of my neck
this upright perfumed corpse
appears quite presentable
i walk out into the fumes
of the street
This blog is updated irregularly and has nothing to do with the poet's output. The poet is actually disturbingly prolific. He writes about 5 poems per day. The pages are everywhere, even stacked in the bathtub.
Blog Archive
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2010
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May
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- give me the one-way chute
- when it's yr every third thought it makes you yawn
- one day yr bones will tap you on the shoulder
- sink in the fangs
- all my life i've given nods to nothingness
- one finger unsalute
- manure & the other side
- give me a one-way chute
- my moments are a string of piss stained empty cups
- the same song forever
- ironically it's the only thing holding it up
- in the hands of the clock
- no voltage in the soul
- my definition of hope
- loveless
- today the void is a pearl
- mightily & voluntarily
- the middle man will break yr heart everytime
- the unamerican dream
- tonight i cannot recall
- where i live now
- primarily a scar
- the myth of the blood red tattoo
- if only they could see my insides they'd run
- gradually you realize there's a dead dog strapped ...
- once a lovely hole to wholeness
- madly dancing in the furnace
- the grass & the children are green
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May
(28)