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Sunday, July 24, 2016

A Poem About Retch-Enriched Symptom Disorder

Samuel Cole lives in Woodbury, MN, where he finds work in special event management. He is a poet, flash fiction geek, and essayist enthusiast. His work has appeared in many literary journals. He is also a prize-winning card maker and scrapbooker.



RETCH-ENRICHED SYMPTOM DISORDER

fucked up man, it whispers
VOICES-CHOICES
lowest point of reflection
bomb goes boom
particle matter pixelating
like a sore throat
at the bottom of the king’s throne
fingers shake juice and puce
chords gag on incidental, incremental, infinitesimal bits
of bloody hell
dizzy and dark, slow the spin, chase a case
NEVER AGAIN
I-promise

fucked up boy, she whispers
VOICES-JOYCES
highest point of reflection
gloom goes womb
dark eye-shadow & light prayers
judging routine calamity
GOi
ng
DOwn
town to a
MAin stREet church pew lambasting
accusation
castigation
misinformation
malnutrition
(presenteeism=aposiopesis)
only girls value color coordination, mass appeal, and stares
REAL BOYS DO NOT
bloom or groom
particle matter pixelating
like a rebel
at the bottom of Satan’s gates
fingers shake urchin and fault lines
cough up incidental, incremental, infinitesimal bits
of Jesus H. Christ
vile and vex, purge the peril, waste a waist
NEVER AGAIN
I-promise

fucked up, dude, they whisper
VOICES-LOUSES
darkest point of reflection
mob goes slob
particle matter pixelating
like a faggot
at the bottom of thigh-high cellulite
fingers shake knuckle and rings
choke up incidental, incremental, infinitesimal bits
of player haters
seize and sputter, lose the less, shame a sham
NEVER AGAIN
I-promise

listen, dear f(r)iend
follow t(he)se steps:
  1. SAY YES         .7
  2. REPEAT YES .3
  3. KNEES .1
  4. BEND OVER .10
  5. THROAT   .8
  6. UNLEASH ABYSS          .4
  7. BLAME COSMOS    .2
  8. NUMB THE NUMB .9
  9. FREAKAZOID  .5
  10. HIDE THE LIE          .6

fucked up, I whisper
VOICES-SCHMOSIS
closest point of reflection
head goes dead
particle matter pixelating
like a scumbag
at the bottom of a quick flush
looking for a piece of peace
THAT NEVER COMES…never comes…never ever, ever, ever
smell my breathe
rotten scabbards
& eat it, eat it,
EAT IT
I-promise

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