Oct 2, 2014

DRAFT THREE by Tasha Klein mAY 13TH 2014


omg

more foil-buckets
in the bucket of hell

toe-
rings
and pilgrim thighs

the messy dance to the pill ration

then we sit on a shiny couch
with the remote
harvesting all the channels

what are you trying to be? a
fucking poem?

here’s the thing:

telephones

corners
&
blurry destinations

the fear aches in my stomach

down in the cafeteria

bones echo

empty
words
stick to paper

sometimes a nurse drifts by

[that

crushing submarine
war tide]

suspicious vermilion hair - only cloud marrow

I look at the drowsy in your eyes;
a mirror