s(knob)bery of the flesh

Still puzzled by all that, bodies with legs waning, melting as icicles, gone, renounced, irretrievable as the past.










knob of flesh
frightened stick of dynamite
persuasive pumice
in its nests scary acrid saccharins
clarinet that bristles
all sounds pronounced unfit

self-swollen cockroach who to heaven aims her shrillnesses
telepathic doodles interspersed in spasms of resentment
squirming jetsome in the atmospheres
a doozy of a twister wreaking havoc therein
the sky a brainless beast chivying a flock of panic-stricken sheep

at all this thunder stares the fool
slept off the scandal and the guilt
he greets in phony joy the thieving needles of his bed
of pareses and thorns

someday'll retaliate the beaming pawn
he shall smear his own funeral with a slew of risky subtleties
as I wasn't there here I ain't he'll say
or perhaps...
but nobody'll listen
nobody shall be there anyway
we are all dead as passing clouds who have the form of molten lead.






Gray birds disappearing in the distance, but were they ever even birds? Or just shades, distorsions of what's seen, discerned.