Here's a new (for you non-Patreon types) poem.
a body upstart
For every Hubert Selby Jr,
there's about twenty or so
Lovecrafts dropping themselves
inna a spot, acting all surprised
welcome mat covered in gold didn't
wipe their ass.
Then comes the piss-steam of summer.
Or the choke of winter. The mean, it curls up inside
like a butterfly knife spring.
You start dreaming up a monster side your head.
Shaking that knife at shadows and huddling in the dark.
Every time a stranger peers too long
or your stuff get stole,
that beast gets more clear. There's more flesh, more enormity.
You are captivated with the fact
that you are consumed in
cruel and damning world,
where everybody seems ta get a little more
than what got you.
don't help none.
It just whittles at your brain.
Kills you crazy.