POEM CONTAINING A POEM BY DAVID BRENT
I froze your tears, & made a dagger
(so I could melt the evidence, make salt)
& stabbed it in my cock, forever
(so you could see it’s not your fault).
It stays there like Excalibur
Hotel & Casino, stuck in 1989.
Are you my Arthur? Say you are.
Or better yet, say you’re my Author.
Take this cool dark steeled blade-
tipped pen; see its calligraphic line.
Steal it, sheathe it in your lake
of ink & king me like a checker.
I’d drown with you to be together--
let’s dive into the deep end, 6’ down.
Must you breathe? ‘Cause I need heaven,
at least seven minutes. How’s that sound?
Thursday, April 26, 2007
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5 comments:
"I'm gonna tell my son
to grow up pretty
as the grass is green"
where are you gawain, wear
are you green, where we t'
wear green we'd wear green
fatigues. GREEN was six feet
even more. where he came and
from whence we did not know.
we're not danes we're brit-
ains we know no spears but
th'blades and the dames, th'
dames sheathed in their pen-
tipped, calligraphic finery.
there, the dames that hold th'
lake, they're the dames that
hold heaven. our green gowns
solidly unite gawain's fault
to us, author w/ the ink
that poured from the severed
head'v GREEN. what little we
knew, even th'king, was the
spear dames where heaven was
not, th'gold dipped dames, wear
salt under all and could b'made
naked w/ water or a kiss.
you're keeping up, little grasshopper!
your bonus tracks don't make it easy...
we know you like a challenge
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