Frank Praeger, July 2013

If issues decimate, flagrant facts divert,
so, cogitate, back to back, pimple bursts, pus
parlayed into a fortune, strippers lining freeways.

Up for larceny,
the other bastards cakewalking,
giggling, holding their purses,
petting the wealthy, other collectibles,
cleaning women, too – what a joke.
Who isn’t laughing, splitting an amorphous difference?
Amorous intent declined, testicle pinching, instead.
Rough sex – oh, boy.

Coherent, indeed, sequential orderliness percieved on request,
eye swollen shut, leg in a cast.
But play on, play on, lift those achy, scabrous feet.
Oh, for some long clean lines of languorous intent!
If something follows, follow.

Long shouts of grass, a solitary bull,
empty sacs of tent caterpillars,
visitants ratcheting up the noise.
But somewhere isn’t the wood punky
and isn’t it the sky that’s overcast?

Promote. Poetry.
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