Hemi - Full Throttle

 

He posts every poem under "love"
— by the gods of dirt, he means it.
He wears his nakedness like a philosophy;
I don't mean bare skin, although he's done that too...
(ladies, breathe)


He sails away on brine and avoidance,
yet anchors himself with his truths.
I dig his filthy driving, more than the hot prose.
I'd swear his stare reeks of diesel and sweat.
(oxygen, so important)


Oh, he's (not) death proof, though he burns through himself
like he is. He has Grim in his line of sight, taking people,
giving him tenacity. His laugh has this hard edge...


He carved the flesh from faults, damage, wear and tear,
and we're hooked because he bleeds our own silent confessions.
He has, in turn, discarded skins and lies,
the booze, the anger, and empty sex.
(helplines now open, ladies)


Hemi deconstructs. What remains, is Hemi.













Tribute to hemihead, http://deepundergroundpoetry.com/poets/hemihead/
under "love" where the dirt gods can find it.