last night

slam  poetry

i fell into a land of
darkness, cigarette smoke;
of a humdrum heartbeat
that thunders tribulations in your soul.

a cesspool of sensation,
of holey cushion seats
in unwholesome formation
arranged like toadstools
around a fairy-ring,
teeming with the thumping
of the throbbing of that something
which you find in
life’s titillating throes of
the Word.

a land called night
of leg-crossing, finger-snapping, eyebrow-raising,
wolf-calling, feet-stamping, eye-widening,
jaw-dropping, hard-breathing, teeth-flashing

of numbers called and notebooks caressed
of namesakes that cried no less
of poetry which made you want to run headlong into a car
racing upon the highway tar,
to burst into song, or to
crawl under the black skin of the warring

simmering syntax sashaying through
the heat of hyperboles, the melt of metaphors –
they proliferate the chants of prancing prose,
anarchaic allegories enthralling
the allegro
rise and fall of human chests
in response to the lore
of riding pentametric pantyhose.

i crawled through their parade of pirate hats,
of people who belied the life of wildcats,
and inhaled the second-hand breath of people who
seek pleasure and a place to not call home.


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