Saturday, August 27, 2011

Shoot Mr. Boredom in the Fucking Head

save all yr yawns
for the grave, please

the first night
in yr coffin
you'll yawn
plenty of times

& forever after...

but you're here
now, bastard

so open yr mouth
& show yr teeth
& scream like
yr spitting
yr tongue out
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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.