Wednesday, November 7, 2018

Jay Sizemore


What a drag it is to die,
to find life’s price tag
and see it yanked free
by a thieving hand,
to integrity
of life’s binding seams.

No one has been arrested
for removing the “Do Not Remove”
from their mattress,
as no one has been arrested
for removing the floor.

The homeless are forced to sleep on
a bed of widening nails:
steel spikes on a sidewalk.

Now they float like plastic shopping bags
caught in the spiraling wind
that holds them aloft
until gravity’s inevitable magic
deposits its trash into the sea,
and the autopsied whales
reveal what they’ve been eating.

Here’s where I tell you
I once jerked off in a plane,
in the bathroom
watching porn on my phone
while people waited outside
in the jostling cabin
35,000 feet above the ground,

and I felt how Donald Trump must feel
parking his cart on the green,
triumphant and dirty
like a kid smirking
through chocolate-smeared lips
driving the fish insane
as he taps the aquarium glass
next to the sign that reads
“Do Not Touch the Glass.”

These orgasms aren’t pleasurable,
they’re just more lubricant
in the gears of this messy machine,
the interlocking teeth
rusted and gritty
with the detritus of our bodies
they grind joylessly
into the red dust of decay,

and we wonder
why there’s always blood
in the mouths
of our politicians
dried to the enamel
of their dead-eyed smiles.

They’re just watching the dirt
shift and groove
beneath the heels
of the countless corpses
they drag to their graves. 

 Image result for trump golf paintings
 Golf Caddy Instructs Trump -- Edward Steed

["Just imagine the hole is world peace and the sand traps are nuclear Armageddon and the club is your ability to deal calmly and rationally with complex situations."]

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