The slow ejaculatory steel
christening flesh
into memories gallery
Hanging bodies
In marvelous displays
splitting them open into
wide ashtrays
Carry me! Carry me!
Make me your art!
I’ll pay for the privilege
To be your next canvas
Genius strokes of madness
The blood is my muse
Each death a creation
That no one can refuse
Back alley
fluorescent light
Cigarette butts deep in the thighs
I’ll be closer to god forever tonight
Those killer eyes tell me no lies
About the Creator
Dakota Pederson
I started when I felt I could not reach any lower but searched for truth. Instead I found poetry in a thrift store on Sprague Avenue. Poetry is my truth.
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Drunk Tank
Grey blue oxidized steel crumpled against an electrical pole. A nice soft memory. Cold steel and concrete floors. Measurements of a drunk tank. One blanket for each of the five men.Wasting. The pounding could not stop. The eyes remain. Fixed. Hopeless. 16 hours. Pine Sol. Disappointment. Bend over. Look up. Spread em. Show us your left arm then right. All of your tattoos. What do they mean?
By Dakota Pederson5 years ago in Poets
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