SubTerrain » poetry

hoarse, whispering

kickin it out back the grocers on milk crates
laughing and passing sherry with the natives

near the burial garden did you steal their stone
by taking stock of these illicit images to guide

a strange traveler through the cedar chip tombs
abalone bowers and the pox of dead gems

what’s writ white is your repeated phantasm
get outa here you no good nah fat chance eh

butt-end of mop in my gut proof of strength
i’m not one of the grubs i’m my own butterfly

list of old debts as skulls in disavowed landfill
back rooms are for the harder digital stuff

deformed mattresses spring at night – muhaha
joyce taps his cane through bonnie sad wood

of sam beckett’s “whoroscope” and krapp’s taped
inanities hissed from the grate in gotham hand

of mother i have strayed too far to ably repeat
the couplets you echoed in my unconscious ear