Friday, May 3, 2013

gold star goblin

That name
Once forced showers of convulsions through my teeny tiny veins
Fluorescent, whispering shakes
as they went down in tornadoes throughout my spinal column

It penetrated protuberances
Prolonged its hallucinogenic effects with home scents
Cookies Soup Blankets Sweat

That name
Floated above me
And it’s owner, the fabricated and the real one alike

Gold star goblin and a teeny tiny Christmas tree
And throbbing in a holy strobe of enigmatic twinkle
Casting five-fingered plastic shadows
Against the ugly mauve thread-bare carpet of adolescence

We were young
And that name meant salvation
The blinging register of it a tri-syllable demigod
God, I was dumb

I’d assigned to it the vitality of gravity
Like oxygen to fire like bounce does to rubber

But it found it’s own truth through cynical cylindricals
Turnings of facts
And almost
A cyclical cyanide infusion to this heart

From it’s slumbering flush
A red palm
And a pipe
That name found solace
That name found life beyond the spring of my personal pronunciation

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