February 23, 2009


by The Poet Spiel

ask danny if she knows about brittle cornstalks
and frozen garden hoses
she sees shattered bones on tarry concrete
and that prick’s florescent wolf teeth
and what hell was like
before hell got better
never been any stars in this kid’s eyes
no pennies in her filthy crusted paws

heaven wasn’t there when that grimy sire
the color of stepped-on-vomit
poked her egg benefactor for a tenbuck
in the back of a stinking dumptruck
before she was shot out of a hole
the color of gutter money

ask danny why she never blinks her eyes
and she sees a caustic stream of piss
aimed spot on at her pupils
wave a jar of vaseline under her nose
and watch her flesh turn to curds

if she could talk she would tell you
what it’s like to never sleep
because she lives on the back side of the moon
and it’s a different kind of picnic there
where that prick skinned a lamb
and with a big fishhook and nylon line
sewed the skin into her flesh
and around her face
until she couldn’t breathe

now let’s have a warm sugar donut
and sing kumbaya

*The Poet Spiel's website is http://www.thepoetspiel.name/


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