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Food for Trash

by Johnny Crimson

The memories snake out the edge of the grass,
and you drag that pretty face through mud for what?
Illegal eagles fly the course of our lands and
I'm willing to bet you're not looking as you should.

It's so often and obvious
to the kids who digest it,
yet the frightening followers
are the same who suggest this.

While a rag-doll approach
is quite often de-railed
I'd rather wage the farm on that deal
than give up and fail.

So what does he mean,
just what is the point?
Why the dashes and loops,
what phrases are coined?

I say the interest
is numb,
just stop skipping around.
A tiny change in the format
will prove your reading profound.

Yet the interest you'll take
will throw the weight off your heels
and this resulting source of knowledge
sounds better than it feels.

Though you've nothing to gain
by not reading a line,
I've seen whores do much dilligence
with a mirror on the thighs.

Collapsed roof convertibles
with silver liquid insides
connect across party lines
and collaborate to make cold garbage dumpster surprise out of risky pale blood eyes that melt with the recycleables in the murky morning sunrise .


12/07/2010

Author's Note: I'm ___ with you.

Posted on 12/07/2010
Copyright © 2024 Johnny Crimson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 12/07/10 at 09:43 PM

Memories are a pain in the ass like that eh? Terrific work.

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