Wednesday, July 21, 2010

boston girl, well, I am chinese firecracker lame

by kenneth mulvey

don’t go you fuck

don’t you dare

but it’s a busted

taillight drive

for a broken door handled

barroom and

a ponytailed joke

bowing, ejaculating

yessir yessir

alla the time

every time you look

at him,

asleep rumbling

throat after he

kicks you out

in a cold front

lawn till

the blistered moon

threatens the

mystics dreaded and


so I spend my



into pieless windows,

wives shrugging their

pale shoulders at

empty tables,

husbands busy rubbing

one out in

hot showers

so they don’t

fuck this up,

whilst me down on

1st street

with bustop bums meagre

cuz the women stay


with methamphetamine

sores volcano naked

all the praised day,

where somebody stole my

empty wallet,

acting out the futile

show yet

we still are all


no, I don’t ask for

it all back since

the emaciated

boy .22’s bunny rabbits

howling like babies

on a cyanide trip

and that’s enough,

I think,

until the midafternoon

pederasting fat russian elite

rape bloody violent

shouting 12 year old girls

between the 14th

and 12th floors,

behind unseen windows

upon papercut carpet,

police guard says

you better leave

buddy boy,

I whip up the

chaise into

crazy motion,


the jealous road

sniffing his own usefulness,

stride dejected

head down and

bent enough for to

load confidence

upon her freckled eyelids

enough to fold

her desolation knees,

it will be easy, this,

the army boys are out

of town

and she’ll forgive,

she’ll need somebody,

she’ll drop her synthetic nuclear vest

in the presence

of an evolutionarily doctored cock

and take me back

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