Tying a Strong Knot
To pull it taut
snug rubber wrapped wire
to test the anchor
deeply seated, sheetrock and stud
You have to
give no flying fiddle sticks
the mess you leave
On the cusp of winning it’s
a hotel room
Clarksburg
as close as you can stomach
Trite, burning the bacon
catching the last 58
shamed by your
waning curiosity
If she didn’t bite so hard
I might have avoided
spilling into another world
Having found impotence
pressed cold like tile against my face
I retire to soak and
toss around the failure
of over starched linens
Pineapple
Patterns burned into the
soiled top of my black possibilities
the origin of the tender
The unabashed psychic power of twenty-three
thirteen-year-old boys praying to go blind.
The blue beast that lives under my bed—
his tongue is smooth and unabated.
The rattling of a fly against
the brainpan.
Feet on cold linoleum.
I say, listen baby just spread
copper legs and do what
hummingbirds do.
Those
boots bring out
your hips.
Christopher Steven Seymore is a writer and musician and resides in the great Houston, Texas. He graduated from The University of Pittsburgh. He has no living heir.
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