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Misses

by Johnny Crimson

We wait for our feverish fill inside the prison
like an open ended eclair
posing for the stuffing
hoping to never taste the same.

The summers drip resin
onto cartoon colored birds
with doe eyes staring down the barrel
two clicks away from
never getting those jeans off alive.

Half-hinged hill-billy jaws
held together with drawstring and grease
flapping in the desert winds
driving the sticks they rest on
further into the earth.

She makes breakfast in her mind
then fucks it to the floor
it's a never forever beginning
it's a whores revolving door.

Chew-Stained petticoats with
polka-dot-eyeliner name tags
drag behind the ragged-chained slave-girl
with her matted hair of rust.

Ninja-star crossfire
of actual original knock-offs
begin their descent
down Drake avenue tonight.

Here, waiting with my flashlight
and the map we made some 13 years ago
I wait crouched behind the old school
just like the plans say.

Yet there you lye
face up to pine
and so far below.
Your smile fading with each summer
your bones melting with the snow.

I skip rocks along this old creek and spy on those that look like you and try and remember what sound you'd make when the sun went down.

04/01/2011

Posted on 04/02/2011
Copyright © 2022 Johnny Crimson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 04/02/11 at 11:26 PM

"Half-hinged hill-billy jaws held together with drawstring and grease flapping in the desert winds driving the sticks they rest on further into the earth."--Now THAT'S an image. Wow.

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