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winter's comedian

there is a dead rooster in my heart,
new head sprouting waxy from cut neck
there is a press photo of Mr. Cancer 
lost in my blue briefcase
i'm at the fossilized airport
and all the formerly defunct payphones are ringing out of their rust
earlier i was in the enema'd bowels of the library
suddenly consumed by lust
i exited, opening speedily several fire exit doors
with my burgeoning erection 
that is like a puppet of summer sunlight
when i hit the public park grass 
the statues i passed gasped
and fell off their pigeonshit platforms
i was not the assassin in the schoolyard
but he hid in my eyes 
i was the one caught pissing on the rug as a child in church
but the preacher's stale apocalypse dragonfly vision
multiplied me until he accused his whole congregation
and my face was obscured in his file cabinets
my tongue swelled with vague prophecies 
behind the capitalist convenience store counter
i vomited on every major newspaper
walked through a chainlink fence whistling angrily
and my landlord and i have each died five or six times
from lack of sleep
god i want a shallow river with no stones in its bed
to run through naked 
away from videogame police 
and renamed antiques in the pockets of the populace  
god i want to see a directionless mob with no pickets & no clothes
god i want the barren small towns 
to be swallowed murderously by the cities
and i want the cities to face all the seas
as i hang-glide smugly
into the insistent mamory of a low star,
a burned-out, hollow-cheeked,
half-eaten apple of a star
where a harem waits purple-eyed and
painlessly pregnant with all my wisecracking kids.

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