Thursday, September 29, 2016

Kerri Shying R # 94 The Newspapers Came in.

The Newspapers came in.

Breathe her in
she comes

Breathe him in
his infant skin
nude and kicking
from the cradle to  your grave

breathe the soot
the grime
it sticks
 it glues
your eyelids shut

stagger upright
reach ahead
 beg and beg
for one clean breath

keep on and say
there’s evil
in  him
the way you say
there’s soy sauce in the rice

macerate the little meat
of speech

here now
between the ingress
and the outpour

marinate that in
the good the evil
the six drops of the essence of terror

over the shoulder
while you’re at it
salt the floor

Narrating the cartoons
here childrens
 Mr Trumpet and the Conch

is that the name?
I know son, I always
get that wrong.

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