deepundergroundpoetry.com
being simply a dip in the saturday morning stream of conscious
the moonshi ne headache reminds
of what fla ttery can buy you
on a friday beside the bayou
cajun spices and or ange peels
in some circles
taste of a minstrel's tonsils
with a pinch of honey solidity becomes
something less tidy
and we work
and we work
the cinnamon mines
we work and
work works we O
hi ho hi ho
shame it is n ot work ing -
the cinnamon grinds into our eyes
and its
a great hulking, as they say,
no-go.
she operates
some sort of charity
as i recall
and a hint of the midnight cunny
still lingers
in the nostrils
, distracting from clarity
we look up
we find
we ar
e overtur ned
in a ditch and al as
seems the wre ckag e fits
Published 23rd Aug 2014
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