OLD SPITOON
Battered bucket, old spitoon
the sounding advocate of my time
with
friends
like
him
who needs
spiders down on their heel
luck-like
you know who I mean
the man with the harp tendons
drawn on hands
cripple eyes
and Smithy's lathe
Thrushy washboard
loaded drink with lime
smiling happy free
blood pool blood
by my ribcage rack
of lamb jumped back on the bone
and all that's left is kissing
riddled with eyelashes and kisses
like the packer's bullet
placed by (p)early infants
in the mourn of the woman
I think of as a longboat
earthy red clay moist to my fingerlips
between the drunks
and the indigo's
findly corners and copse
where I can wholly sleep with you
old spitoon.
Battered bucket, old spitoon
the sounding advocate of my time
with
friends
like
him
who needs
spiders down on their heel
luck-like
you know who I mean
the man with the harp tendons
drawn on hands
cripple eyes
and Smithy's lathe
Thrushy washboard
loaded drink with lime
smiling happy free
blood pool blood
by my ribcage rack
of lamb jumped back on the bone
and all that's left is kissing
riddled with eyelashes and kisses
like the packer's bullet
placed by (p)early infants
in the mourn of the woman
I think of as a longboat
earthy red clay moist to my fingerlips
between the drunks
and the indigo's
findly corners and copse
where I can wholly sleep with you
old spitoon.