pretty hammer

alone. drunk. funkateering the funkeroni and sleaze

in my domestic multiverse.

at peace. in tiny pieces.

circling the grandeur of the almighty

brain-drain.

my own medulla stoned regatta:

Goombay head smashtastic!

 

then, head-case hell arrived,

you were in tow

like a slo-mo lizard tail,

reducing my glorious slackdom

to raggedy rubble, double-time.

 

our lack-lationship is sunk,

yet your infected spirit still swells,

and you do your crossa-nova crucifix shuffle

all over my independence parade route.

spit acidy catastrophe all over that shag

carpet in my den. Again! And, again!

 

you always slam-dunk your slum-dank

into my watery face fissures

like a mythical plague plagiarism

in real-time

on the fake tip

in lip-quiver mode

with no grip tape to hold you steady

betty!

 

and this dog ain’t ready to sleep,

so I nibble your bedraggled

bones with my snaggle-toothed love

one more time, one more time,

and drift off to my disconnect with

your nicotine stains on my smokeless digits.

 

I wake.

alone.

with a dial tone feeling:

hung up, hung out, hung-ry

for something that used to fly.

 

re-run goodbyes are like a spider bite that won’t heal.

festering molesters with access to my creamy center!

 

I’ll always be your broken glass.

you’ll always be my pretty hammer.    

Reviews

[roarke]

Yeah, been there. Let the creativity proclivity re-forge that pretty hammer and your broken glass will be transformed into a transcendent stained glass portal.

in the mean time, keep writing this cool stuff and go get something to eat, preferably non-processed.

[Jūdan FyreHeart]

I love those final lines. The rest is such an honest view packed with those dark and sleazy images