temporal manifesto for the necessity of poets

steel hand blades washed        
to the discerning crux of the feathers touch      
       
for the surgeon        
precise cuts are the line between      
van gough brush strokes painting eyes in the thick gold      
of the country sun and the eternal ink of oblivion        
       
but you poet      
dirty nails clawing this piteous        
refuse of words      
       
for something that gets us off      
pissed        
fuck-sucked      
or gentle weeping        
in love      
       
the garbage of your skin      
reeks needled abuse      
and primping  egotism      
       
the jagged art of your rusty        
word pills and bruised    
heart-arrow pierced pussies        
       
punch and kiss themselves      
with nails to hang        
from the gallery of tongues        
       
no immaculate lie to save us now      
let us lie  then like dogs      
in this ass sniffing      
wound  licking charade      
       
your loathing tongue mind        
drips gristle burned words        
like greasy blood into the moon-lonely        
throat howl rising like the hand of a drowning man      
       
       
but you swallow the sea      
crawling out, salt  leaking  from your eyes        
burning life's whip tracks        
       
up to her hips now in amputated        
limbs, the scalpel long replaced with saws,  
the van gough sun now a bloody musket ball smeared in bite the bullet whiskey brown skies      
       
maybe the ragged poet      
wipes our eyes in the end      
       
with cracking glacier yelps      
like bayonet lullabies drifting      
to pine needle dreams      
       
a brown dead hair of tree bed      
my fetal curled body suspended      
in the sleepy milk of night      
       
no yoga will keep the waking
snake choke day-break thrum        
of each buzz flock whale wailing        
moan from migrating to memory        
       
but you poet      
       
dirty nails clawing this piteous        
refuse of words