Burning Cattle

16 Apr

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Burning Cattle

 

out of the hotwired many

I am just one

            one dashboard

            bashed against its own teeth

by your pretty car crash

and the uniquely enamel’d habit

you have of misplacing your car keys

 

the cup cake goes: frosting

 

formerly trusting bone torn away

from the sexy flesh of your

reverse engineered scarecrow philosophy

 

my silo pronounced ‘solo’

your barn door pronounced

            “I’m in love with someone else”

 

the nose goes: snort

 

bonfires of charred flesh

splash around in your wake

like 34th century bread crumbs

 

leading the way back to

your late night TV commercials

for Restless Crotch Syndrome

which eerily predate the 118th unnecessary remake

of Red Dawn

 

put that in your sarcophagus and smoke it

you never appreciated Boris Karloff

like I appreciated Boris Karloff

 

The cow goes: moo

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