The Stand-in

 

 

Wrapped in a black garbage bag,
poetry can be dangerous,
brutal, pure American hardcore.

 
This is my weapon,
you want some of this?
But damn,
I saw him do things,
that I couldn’t do,
my stand-in.
It’s all about cubic inches,
horsepower,
full throttle,
No holds barred, pure muscle.

 

 

 
Destruction!

 
Words mean shit to the cherries,
the soft girls,

with the buttery wings.

 

 

 

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Filed under outlaw poetry, poetry, Short stories and essays

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