Robert Brendan

(1979 / Calgary)

Bad Things - Poem by Robert Brendan

People in my city
some I have known
pop their pimples onto
glass shards
caked with black
diesel refuse
(that’s what they cut
it
with lots)
and smoke their puss.
not to get
high
but to be tided over
to the next
high.
when it gets down to the roach,
when you choose the
gak
on your pipe
and melt old puddles
back down the neck
burning your fingers
sos you can melt
a new puddle
just a couple of seconds
from now
and you can wait.

others piss into a cup
let it dry out
and smoke the salts
of their urine
just to tide them over
until the next wave
of nausea
when the taste fills your
mouth
and glides down your
throat,
sits and collects
in your phlegm
to spit in a cup
later on
and let that dry out
to smoke it.

it comes out of you
and back into you.
a comprehensive
urban or rural
recycling strategy
that finally works.

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Poem Submitted: Monday, October 17, 2005



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