don't just
bleed on the keyboard pick up the whole machine & drown it in a tub of yr blood then spread yr fingers over that red typewriter making every page stained margin to margin as it rolls thru —Rob Plath www.robplath.com
3 Comments
between threadbare
nerve endings & the skull’s wide grin the soul emits gobs of spit —Rob Plath www.robplath.com i've always
felt the function of poetry was to delay suicide that poems had to be simple straight talk for instance, like what you'd say to someone from an open window while they are on the ledge ten stories up from pavement anything else, according to this definition, is equivalent to pushing the fucker off —Rob Plath www.robplath.com |
THE
|