Dead Beat

Ginsburg, you motherfucker.

You really screwed with my mind.

The tectonic plates of my bones have
been shaking like a rape victim.

I haven’t had an original thought since
you put your diction in my brain.

Why did you slide from hallowed earth and
wrap bare bones around me? It’s well known
my heart’s a two-pump-chump.Swinging, neck
stretched, in the cool shade of my family tree.

I saw you, neighbor, doing the same. Was there
a point to crashing my pad, burning all of my
poems, drinking all my gin and force feeding
me jazz? The cherry fell off my cigarette.

Pale blue smoke among the

gasping,

ailing, 

leaves.

I hope it goes out. I’ll feel like a fool

if I burn down my own damn house.

A digression, I know, but, you. You,
 angle headed hipster, made me pee a little.

The pills in my pocket dissolved and were

absorbed through my femoral pores.

My Right leg won’t stop dancing. It jittered and
jigged down the street and won’t come back to this
homely hip.I’m a cripple! I’ve been leaning on
metaphors for days.Sometimes, you’re the wolf, and
other times, just another hapless mauled victim.

… I hope you and Walt Whitman are happy together,

you son of a bitch.


Kyle Apgar