Sunday, September 25, 2016


I’m on a lot of drugs 
by which I mean 
the world spins 
incessant as a fly 
hovering around
our jalapeno poppers
I’m joking though
I don’t eat anything
that’s breaded
or go out in public
anywhere featuring
a screen for the staring
We are all at work 
whether sleeping
or cutting logs 
we are at work 
I bolted from the dynamic
after learning Ellen
got mauled at work 
while beginning surgery
on a pit-mix
Everything’s fatal 
if you didn’t know
Everything’s fatal
No world’s an exception
Dollar dollar bill etcetera, 
the world is collapsing. 
The world is a funny place
composed of compounds. 
Fusilli drags through our days. 
A bluish ruin takes place
and I itch incessant. 
As an abandoned anaphylactic shock 
I recommend none go forward. 
(but what about the drugs?) 
(no drugs! 
screams the water slide.) 
Some new object goes to war with our civilian tastes. 
All amasses. 
What isn’t abrasive is suspect. 
A certain amount 
(of salt) is required to go on inside of preposition day. 
Deadly as cornered subject: 
most’s for naught. 
Otherwise suspend our hearts indefinitely. 
When I reach out to you 
after your injury
your sick dumb injury 
when you don’t respond to that
I require mustard. 
Mustard and a shotgun, 
Where do we ache from here? 

--Joseph Goosey 

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