Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

Golden brown
and wafting
in the air,
mingling
with the
dust, flecks
of nothing
clinging to
the wanton
parallel 
streams that
dripped from
my nostrils,
burgundy and
thick
from a fleshly
gravy boat.
 
I was walking
around on the
base of my eyeball,
trying to see what 
it would feel like.
I didn't feel
anything, probably
because I realized I
was dreaming.
Cursed realization.
 
The bus-stop
between realization
and consciousness
 is littered with
leftover entrails.
 
Better get to work,
men, we're on
contract, here.
 
Fat and muscular,
and, of course,
wearing a wifebeater.
 
Countenance bearing
flab coated in what
could have been 
grass clippings
dyed heliotrope.
 
Bus stop, sidewalk, brain matter
strewn, resembling lucky charms;

entrails stain the
daily news with golden
brown.
 
Soakin' it up.
 
Snow shovel, blistered
ring finger, shucked
from a stroke. Wet, now,
is the
plastic handle.
 
A crater of pulpy
pink sponge beef,
dripping body-bilge. 
Dust was
wafting into it,
specks of nothing
clinging to the
rim.

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