Kerri Shying R # 94 The Newspapers Came in.

The Newspapers came in.

Breathe her in

here 

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

already

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.