Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Poem: Street Addict

This poem appears in my recent chapbook Man Watches January, and was originally published in Vox Humana.

If, amazingly, your interest in MWJ is piqued, you can go here to find out more, or even purchase(!):

Man Watches January




Street Addict

castration cuts his hope,
the hard-on untouched,
as the pieces windmill through bad days,
shred into fingers
stripping purses from old ladies.

his eyeballs on a carousel,
going round the head,
one the lion, the other prey.
he jibbers while sight devours itself,
sobs like the gazelle’s throat being torn.

someone juiced his balls
and squeezed the fury into his veins.
he knows what it’s like
to have nerves revolt, collapse,
become pitchforks and torches,

he the frankenstein.

the drug kills and pulls him back.
half way.
he smashes windows, yanks drawers.
screeches at car alarms, asks,
“how much for my darkness?”

it never was about Satan,
despite a mother in a church in a bib.
more about loneliness. he was always a tool,
never heard only used.
and so he’ll use.

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