We sit upon the broken eggs… Friday, March 14, 2015 #Schwervonpoetry 

Show poem from last night.


IMG_5109Morning sun deliver me
From the tar pits of sleep
 Fuel the day with
 Woolly Mammoth tusk.
 The meaty bones of writing.
 Skin crumbs that chip and peal
 from all the faces
 That I love and dream
 A day before the fire
 Evading the battles
 Over log cabins and hard cider
 Birkenstock face lifts
 Spray painted Cadillacs.
 Mr. Potato head eye shadow
We learn to dance with
 The broken bodies
 We study the chickens in the yard
 We learn from their moves
 We sit upon the broken eggs
 The imperfect yolks.
 We break free
 We shine with glitter
 Dripping from the corners
 If our mouths
 We smile rainbows
With each potato we peel
Each root we pull from the earth
Our dirt clod legs
Dangling in the sunlight
Pounding on the water trough.
Of this earth but no longer in it
Time to skip and dance
Time to feed others

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Okay to be broken

Okay to be broken
Okay to disconnect
Okay to be a fan

Nomads are much more
Likely to resort to cannibalism

Eating bugs
Eating rats
Eating guts

And seminal fluids

The Mongols of peacetime
Shooting for dollars

A marriage of self defense
We’ve never seen anything



Rhesus pieces
There’s no place like home

It is everywhere.