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by Johnny Crimson

Scrape your tongue
along the glass.
Fuck the mouth
with silver flow.
Leave the teeth
beneath the floorboards,
sever the scraps
delete your whore.

A cow mouth fucked with shrapnel braids
whipped closer to the eyes than science and God alike.
I'd rather remedy
a quick fix in the mud
for these are the deaths of patience.
Finger-bone accuracy tempts our backstep
as the old victrola begins to spin.


Posted on 01/20/2011
Copyright © 2022 Johnny Crimson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 01/20/11 at 09:11 PM

Intense doesn't even begin to describe this thing. Another brutal, awesome read, man.

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