Wednesday, June 1, 2011

not-sonnet of jimminy cockroach

Crawling in my walls the cockroaches go
hithering thither, discussing the weather
as we all do: hello Jimminy Cockroach,
eaten the poison, or simply just shallow

in all your hopes: I will not touch the stuff
in the trap, mr mouse: am I, nothing yellow
for me, not for me. Mr. Roach, God is, how does 
he doing? Does he stimulate your marrow?

Tomorrow I will arise and fry eggs.
Throw strips of bacon at the corner where meets my
pillow walls. You may fight the open mouths of ants
and other cut creatures with mandibles,

with Mr Roach, for the chewable death,
Mr Roach, always, with his ever open mouth.

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