Idiolexicon: 2/1/2007


M. Rather, Jr.

My Dog Rubbed Her Whole Buddy In Goose Shit

If they sing much more
their vocal chords will
be sawed in half.

Their throats will open to
the summer sun
and within them there will be:

corn,
goose shit,
Grant Wood paintings,
old honky tonk desperation,
empty pop bottles,
six bottles of wine,
glass table,
detuned guitars,
translucent poets,
pantheistic debates,
eyebrows,
and stories.

Their throats will rise
in protest. Gurgling,

Nam Myho Renge Kyo

Thus spoke the buddhist
sitting on his hands
but still painting necks,
painting esophogi,
painting eloi,
painting adam’s apple,
painting holes
upon holes
upon holes.

And what pray tell does
hole rest upon?

Turtle shell,
upon turtle,
upon turtle,
humpin tortoise
in the Des Moines Zoo.

All the throats tuned
to the guitar.
The blond girl in her lap
even rising her own
adam apple-less throat.
These are rites
of passage.
Mites into flies.


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