Bob BrueckL


Ecce Homo

Utterly unutterably scum squat meltdown
(to ratchet up, in the thrall of exacerbated dust,
the oblique fossil of a comet from the glass riverbed)

tickling singe trickling
(fickle zipper in my cassock,
I shit in my britches, dead foliage of my femur,
rubber meat, superficial effigy — my filthy cock exceeds me)

curd lung as far as a butt, or
daylight displaced in my throat
(lugubrious teats, organs of malice, testicles and entrails)

serrated foreskin rupturing a lush nipple's stamen codicil
(I lick my fatidic shadow, I sniff the tip of my dick,
O one-eyed syllable, mutilated)

glazed wads of tantrums plunged into disembodied bubblegum
(I slobber over the torso of my name
under the creaky shadow of the moon)

inverted, simulated hiatus, throatless tangent
tenderizing my softer thirst
(it is palpably implacable, sterile loins of zero)

feral sinkhole, liminal vinyl, splattered axel,
barefoot ducts, gouged-out pinhole cove
(I puke on the gutteral marrow
in the voice of my ringworm,
cadaverous cockring convulsing)

onyx cul-de-sac, unsaid frothing, undone switchblade
(dustless wrinkles, indifferent crow's-feet squinting)

empty field of nothing but eyelashes
(the vigil festers, a wake over the corpse of the cat's-paw)

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