17
writings to our mother
/poem 13
Julian Ozkur
As I make friends with all the ghosts in my house,
I begin to neglect the lawn.
So I’m stealing a glance at a Harlot’s wings,
before our viscous stares cut them off.
The audience comes straight from the bank
where they break their cash into the smallest bills.
–
The poltergeists in my drywall,
sing a misery song to me:
“Blame!
Alright! Alright!
I’m in love with this liquid crystal!
Oh yeah! Yeah, yeah!
Tear me up as if I were the wealthy!”
My ringing ears don’t make a sound
as they turn another pretty face
into pounds and pounds of ground beef.
The grinder cranks on
as they’re fondling spears,
and despondently sucking off guns.
And with the spectral choir we sing:
“Shame!
Alright! Alright!
I’m in love with this liquid crystal!
Oh yeah! Yeah, yeah!
Spit me out like I am animal skin!”
–
The Garden is dry,
the lawn is dead.
Trash lines all the gutters.
The ghosts and I,
are fucking each other,
as we all get excited to die.