Hold the Line

I’ve got to keep it locked down
there’s no paper ¬ – no pen or pencil
crayon or magical marker
damn it! I know I should keep them in here –
under the sink
I look under the sink:
spare rolls of toilet tissue, that handle I never put on the sink doors and Ty D Bol™
no more
I hold the lines of a poem in my head
as the last stubborn turd ¬–
like the half sized end link
on a long string of sausages –
refuses to drop
there’s no way out
repeat the words, repeat the words
“By God, I was drunk as a Lord at Christ Avenue and Holy Ghost Lane.”
Is that a good line?
“A nose like an oven-ready turkey tail…
Fingers like snapped Kit Kats™…
Eyes like a shaking can of spray paint…”
hold the line – tie it down
I consider turning on the hot tap
and writing word in steam on tiles
and I’m suddenly free – up, wiping
and I won’t come clean – the precious words
they fade… they fade…
what the fuck was it … drunk as a what at a what?
a turkey nose like candy bars?
hurry up! come clean! this shit!
I think of the Marquis… no, do not
no, DeSade and his excremental immortality
keep your head as you wipe your ass
o, how I could use a wet wipe
as I’ve struck hemorrhoidal blood
I could write the first great
sanguinary buttocks poem of the 21st century
because e.e.’s Loneliness
hastily written on apple leaves
after an encounter straddling
the orchard owner’s barbed wire
takes the 20th
o, Jesus, the shit is piling high
in more ways than many
talk about descents into Hell
you could eat a sunny side egg off my anus
I go to flush and remember my feng shui
the poem might go down the drain like so much wasted
imagination… imagination like plucked
turkey tails
or spray paint eyes that tag doom
on boardroom wall
and stock holder’s souls
with all eternity on my hands
I too might vacation 3 days at Brimstone Meadows
a real estate trick that tripled property values
even if Hell remained
none the worse for wear after the Savior of mankind’s visit
and with that in mind
I depress the lever and let the waters go
along with turkey tails, paint cans
and wafer confections… along with the Lord,
the Christ, the God and the Spirit
that moved through me
like a face upon the lightless sea…
my cup runneth over…
the Lord is my plumber, I shall not want

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