I am not going to cry all the time
I will mire tantrums in syrup of gristle
Flock to cadres of emotional black transparency
Be mine own worst brown shirt
Just to say that my woobie was swiped?
No Sirs! Release your own damn hounds!
Raze your own filthy, incontinent dreams
I will thrust back tears to ducts
Flank my quivering lip with stiff-upper
Permeate the emotive wigwam of consolation
with a fog of war, a fog machine of war
Munitions with sobriquets so that every kill
shall know the line being squished underfoot
extinguished grits smoked to butt are thee
incendiary crouton cylindered by fiberglass
Will pull your card when you least expect it
And there won't be tears enough, monster
to inundate the fury of unattended pets
Spicaresque:
A Spanglish blog dedicated to the works, ruminations, and mongrel pyrotechnics of Yago S. Cura, an Argentine-American poet, translator, publisher & futbol cretin. Yago publishes Hinchas de Poesia, an online literary journal, & is the sole proprietor of Hinchas Press.
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