The Back Room Poem by Floyd Crenshaw

let's go to the
molar
and slowly decay
they joke
where smoke
attacks youth
logic takes
a break
and i write
and cope
and live
slightly

i am not
insulted
when called
a zombie
i do
the same
as you

i have witnessed
in this molar
grotesque
beauty,
space
collapsing,
presidents
hand holding
field skipping
war lords right along,
eternal truths
written on
the skin of women
with lemon ink,
character duels,
touche,
objects with
bottoms
any where to vomit?
sketch comedies
transmitted through air
words slap-sticking
dancing on the coffee stained
table
waltzing by ash
butts
powders
flowers

some times slow
some times fast

some times it

pays to
play to
pay to
play to
wiggle this way to
stay away from that fray

during this slow decay
amongst pseudo
subliminal smoke
and liquor rain
it's centuries old
as i slowly decay.