Sunday, December 22, 2013

Toaster Mouth / This Is Not About You


Jeremiah Walton graduated high school the spring of 2013, and hit the road hitchhiking the following Fall, hitting every open mic and slam along the way.  Jeremiah is editor of Nostrovia! Poetry, W.I.S.H. Publishing, UndergroundBooks, and The Traveling Poet.  You can follow his travels and poetry at Gatsby's Abandoned Children.


Toaster Mouth

My eyes are blindfolded with your bandanna.
The couch cushions a spine sore from smashing skull against Internet poet scream

Something brushes against my cock
It's not flesh or warm. Feather duster?

This is the most pleasurable darkness!  

You are sunrise I welcome teeth of
biting enough to illuminate territory.

Draw blood and we'll broil from our bodies pretzling together.
Mouth absolves cock into toaster warmth
Tongue flicks tip like pinball 
pin balls between 
fingers.

Microwaving tinfoil is synonymous with good head.

Nails herpe skin with goosebumps,
and we lightening.


This Is Not About You

You’re acting poetic
like car crash
resulting from good head.

I’m handing off the lead
This tempo
Is a bit quicker than my body

I’ll let loose eventually
but my bones are a tight today
and the music,
water through fingers,
cum in mouth.

The trumpet is singing
more saliva than
notes,
and damn
that spit
is hope.

You are a crying panda
too difficult
to control
like a fucked up spine
in pole dancer’s
back.

She’s balling up
her fists
talking back
to herself

Don’t think this is a reference to you.

I’m charging you
with assault
on normality.

Here’s a high 5
for enduring your futility,
playing the trumpet

and crashing the car.



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