cement mixer me

cement mixer me

I do not sleep, night after night.

I stomp my snock-wall cranium,
leave bloody bootprints and bone bruises.

I swallow chemicals, hold my throat. 
To close my eyes is sand on talc,
is memory ink, is grotesque plasm; 
a spill within my wadded heart.

I spell the words I would not hear,
on lines collapsing in the heat.
My stupid moves, my lies, my grief.

Cartoon nemesis, gravel'd me,
sinks into the alum ocean
in wave on wave of best forgotten.
A momentary self-crustacean
snarled up in holiday lights.

I am bees in tin and crushed within.

A stoppered pour of chatterstone.
Cement mixer me.

O Bury Me Not
I will not survive the end of this poem


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Sunday, September 23, 2018

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fine art prints
writing by Greg Correll