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a song on which Kafka choked

  a    
door collar        
o my dug pup shame, a pet        
you shuffle between the corduroy  
and  the cardboard        
of your mousy brown hair,    
   sea shells        
bo’ chained and spliced    
      
to your necklace; a heavy  pence        
worn like a five-fifty dusk,  
   shaken,        
jaded dark-berry weather  
        
let Jayne play the middle- weights,        
let her  land-lady mark each banister scuff,        
   just play and lift your nightie sweet sunset,        
a sweet known shade for my eyes.
nomoth
Written by nomoth
Published | Edited 24th Aug 2020
Author's Note
for Missys "Go Bukowski, it’s yer (100th) birthday" comp.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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badmalthus Ahavati Josh Lagertha Particles_Of_HerII Calamityofgin Bluevelvete
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