Tug
A single hair wobbles like a newborn/
I tug the rig through the bearing;
the wind plucks the string at the anchor/
pitiless currents set seaweed adrift,
and the ship has been nine months
with crust, grease and brine.
I chuckle // post-hoc;
the oblivion, the mutiny.
my scalp hauls and hauls out
childish repetitions,
until it plunges the sea's old heart,
to hunger legacy
as the rest of the godless
vomit nostalgia.
************* ***** *** *** **
see this hair?
all I can think about –
is how this thing was growing for like
9 months, jus comin out of my scalp
and
you know it’s wobbly it’s like this –
like a newborn baby…
ya know?
and
! my scalp is like Peter Pan!
like the rest of my body’s gonna be
like, long gone
and it’s jus gonna keep on
pumpin it out.
Complete denial.
Itskindafunny.
Copyright © Andrew Gallagher | Year Posted 2009
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