Burning Cattle


Burning Cattle


out of the hotwired many

I am just one

            one dashboard

            bashed against its own teeth

by your pretty car crash

and the uniquely enamel’d habit

you have of misplacing your car keys


the cup cake goes: frosting


formerly trusting bone torn away

from the sexy flesh of your

reverse engineered scarecrow philosophy


my silo pronounced ‘solo’

your barn door pronounced

            “I’m in love with someone else”


the nose goes: snort


bonfires of charred flesh

splash around in your wake

like 34th century bread crumbs


leading the way back to

your late night TV commercials

for Restless Crotch Syndrome

which eerily predate the 118th unnecessary remake

of Red Dawn


put that in your sarcophagus and smoke it

you never appreciated Boris Karloff

like I appreciated Boris Karloff


The cow goes: moo

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