Tuesday, February 17, 2015

Senectitude

I am starting to enjoy impairment
n-abilities to hear sharp sunder
parked between plosions and fricatives.
Slipped gears grind smoke and spark
in my ears which sprout mufflers of pubic tuffs
stretched cross stitches of skin seams.

Fried grease riots pop and splatter
glottal gristle still sizzling off
clapping skillets swearing tongues.
Spatter asper clangs on kitchen stoves.
This spreading splendor feeds
emaciated impressions, but for me
fete dribbles snippets
from my loosened slack. 

Come again? Could you regurgitate
scooped syllables off sawdust sentences? 
Words need to be spoon-fed softly.
Teeth shattered, so let me gum my meaning.  

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