Poem

David Larsen

The tree waved and you fell behind
the waving tree, no one left to bother.
I fell in torn clothes, my muddy make-up
the shit you might have done
and did do, all over your face
it's got you
And you're carrying
such a load, it's an ass's load.
A dozen faggots of I don't know what
the bundle shifted, what am I
in my medallions supposed to
lend a hand? I'm holding
grapes and a phone.
You ready then your shouting
at the fly, the fly murderer.
Put it in your purse, O
differently blessed, another
hit from DJ Mom and MC Dad
I'm sleeping on which part of
the word you love to make me say
so many
Wild at the contest,
one side mocks another.
Whose past is cock-related
whose rose's bud's the fattest
Burr in the mind, in fact
I'm startled that you'd ask me
because he's been my friend forever
And you and I don't go back all that far at all.

David Larsen