he’s talking globular (redux)

Grunt ah da HogMan

Squint-eyed monochromatic
on the screen of  her childhood 
He’s talking globular in brays and winces 

A hive of astringency  
in this corner of the universe
voices echo  

Pins and needles thighs 
inner thigh billabongs 
oxbows surgically repaired 

Get away hog man 
get back to hog land 
hog man
dead end

Mutton mouth
carnival-lips agape
carny barking 
under orange / yellow wisps

Get away hog man
get back to hog land
hog man
dead end

“I remember writing a poem about killing my parents and reading it to my mother. She was not very happy but she always encouraged me nonetheless. I was 12.”

— Lydia Lunch / “The Creative Independent”

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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