By Michael Gerard
Spikes on Your Lapel
Spikes on your lapel
Rocks popping
Trucks stopped
Slugs draped in
Vinegar finesse
Limbs trudging
Across outhouse
Doorways
Snake oils of
Reputable sources
Heaven sent critical
Acclaim dropped in
Your lap, slit from my
Decrepit gums and rotting
Cortex,
Can you smell the bile?
Till the filth?
Carcass stains on the
Living room floor
And all over the
Entrance rug
Look at me and my
Jumpy nouns
What a party
For you
Edgy types
****
Indeed
I’m a fucking loser and a bozo
Indeed
Hanging from the dry cleaner
Rack sipping winner’s champagne
Of beers like a broke ass painter
Of houses in the suburban desert
Stuffing dry snuff up his nostril
Puffing through the apple pipe he found
Behind the Texaco station
I’m a fucking charlatan and a fraud
Indeed
No sense in dropping in tonight
I won’t be home and neither will my
Bitterness, as I bring it with me everywhere
I go
Michael Gerard is the author of Rust on the Water Tower, Rust as a Constant, a poetry booklet published through Gob Pile Press. His poetry has also been featured in publications such as The Journal of Compressed Creative Arts and Literary Yard and he is the author of books of fiction such as Switchboard Rot (Anxiety Press) and After All (Sweat Drenched Press). Michael currently resides in Kansas City.