Monday, October 13, 2014

poem || Jeff Harrison

Need And Scythe Tones

give not courtesy well the face,
Drowned So, nor, plague-yummy,
turn bony with release like
something drunk-rid of grunts...
I'm literature.
an ocean living it up in our brainpan,
unfenced, would lovingly drop down
redundant motors about...
stench out light, Seventh-of-Face!
learned-look school bones. taps.
desperation, tired, is a still grandmother
systems worn, willingness sun,
me through by skeptical you
flag again, child's day
steady as she goes, Sheep Toes!
cash me pistol-pistol
I'm bare of guilt or rest

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