ARR 1988 - Flipbook - Page 65
The Bludgeoning Alias
These are subwordsserpent eggs growing in my head
too small to see,
too numerous to count.
The synapses between them
crackle and grate
like a severed telephone cable
or ebbing waves of crushed glass that
grind against the back of my eyeballs
making me speak so,
wishing I had a cure.
I watch you and your ilk
nape hair stiff
glancing about like startled rabbits
and sadly
what I feel is envy.
At least you're well-fed:
your bellies swell with
the warm milk of confidence.
Because I can't tell you what I'll be
in ten years.
Most likely:
a cluttered house with sturdy walls
and sagging floorboards
cheap and available,
yet still vacant.
Matt Mullin
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