Poem: "A Position of Defeat 9"

a climbing rose called Altissimo



9.

. . . the morning sun, the climbing rose
love in which i had placed all faith and hope
is in my hands a fraying piece of rope
affixed to nothing but the body’s throes

horizontal as custom and the bed
the months turn into years, the years history
commaed by wretched anniversaries
struggling to meet business overheads

abbreviated clips on rockettube
broke college boys, men on edge, english lads
predictable and fake as tv ads
still draw out from the drawer the length of lube

no venus up high, only narcissus
see in the rupture of a tight white ass
self-reflection, the turbid, clammy face
on things when they are not afraid of us


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