What it takes to harvest

A crumbled harvest
of dried up nouns
and adverbs
stuck in my throat
and when I swallowed
I sputtered on
clotted grime

and poetic eugenics
branded a new strain
of modified, manufactured
figmented phrases
(elegic bile!)
(raven’s epitaph!)
down an assembly line
of arthritic pens
and dried-out hands.

So I drove down to that
“other side”
(You know the place-
those blocks
your mother hurries by)
Siren-red octagonals
waved me down
bloody echoes
of mother’s parables

but my head was thrashing
and my limbs were cramping
and damn it
I need to walk
this pavement even if
I stumble and scrape
my knees
or lose an eye
to indiscriminate knives.

You met me
in the proverbial dark alley
and behind a dumpster
I was raped by your ghost.

my body is haunted.
my body is hallowed.

My head cleaves in two
A ravaged waste
of grey matter.

A fertile bounty
your two-natured spawn.
(protean demons!)
(pyrrhic corpses!)


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