How Can You Write That



On more than one occasion I am in a mindless room

with a man caught gripping a vacuum

luring leads in like a rasping shameless fisherman

and the man says stop, he leans in to plant the hook in my mouth

and still, unabashed, I pout and spit and

split his nebula to corona


Every last dot is out and assuaging as I rip the line asunder

the sederent sicklehead’s luster lost to the sunlight’s adamant glower

the graycast twitches as I titter on above him           

he splutters my name from a dark orifice

                                    a Judas, a whore to the conflated left

a vulture, manacled to a post while the entrails of rats are littered below (not so empathic) but spurned, caged, likely to die from the ferocity of its own wrath        

a fitting end to the purged


the wings have been plastered together before

and still slobbering, he begs I bend down

meet adipose, impeccable lout.

Spitfire, he hisses, then closes his curtained veins shut


Witty, I sigh and stand at the ready


mop in hand



- Jessica Bruhn