28 July 2008

rob plath

build yr barricade against the bones

coffee stains on counter
like several malignant melanomas

mold on ceiling above kitchen sink
green Rorschach test tattoos
signifying nothing

pieces of dust flying out of
box fan like no-souls shot
into void

skin flaking from my frame
fallout of rotting human form

trembling more out in the open
getting key into lock
pushing buttons of phone

bones knocking on door of flesh
some day'll shoulder their way
through jamb

in the meantime--
building barricade of:
beer bottles
coffee pots

a good day

it's 92 & muggy
2:23 p.m.
one of the fans
just stopped working
the other pushes thick
air around
dust balls moving across
the floor
like tiny tumbleweeds
the unamused cats
dangle their
limbs off furniture
trying to keep loose
& cool
the cicadas & the hum
of the box fan
team up to compose
the aural backdrop
to the neural madness
within my skull
last night a few blocks away
there was gun fire
the police chopper's whirling blades
drowning out the music
on my little black radio
i pulled the thin bed cover
up to my chin & lay still
as in other places
the sheet is thrown over
less fortunate faces

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