thaddeus amoeba

18 Sep


thaddeus amoeba


my body is turning to treason

and I’ve been told

that it’s not cute

the characters I write are pompous

overly erudite and bruised

like a night at the park

in Greenwich Village golden by a summer tease

with a bottle of Barton’s whiskey and only one pack of smokes

to share between half a dozen homeless drunks

discussing why I can’t be an autodidact

without knowing what a preposition is

trying to convince a sixteen year old runaway

to call home

for an hour high  

through the psalm on shaking lips

the maternal gestures of forgotten girls

a howl hidden in fishnets

learning to love society

an iscariot misconstrued

and when the last of the liquor is gone

they give up and smile

look to me again  

and prophesize the future   

a rebellion too old to complete a destiny

nothing much left but

jail or the dry heat of Arizona

or swoopstake martyrdom

to keep it divine and entertaining


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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings

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