i see the doctor tomorrow
i'd like to die
laughing in
my chair while
dressed in the
only suit i have
ever owned
freshly bathed
and shaved
a new tattoo on
my left arm with
the directions to
a key for a safe
deposit box that
isn't mine
maybe a riddle
on my right calf
for shits and
giggles
and a little heart
on each testicle
just because
all in body paint
an ode to the artist
i never became
my last poem
tucked inside
my suit
the perfect poem
the one only meant
for the worms in
the ground
right about then
you remember you
are being cremated
entirely too much bass
tripping into a
neon afterworld
drinking on a cloud
that bounces to the
beat of a demon that
enjoys entirely too
much bass in his
house music
i never thought i'd
enjoy wearing pink
pants and smoking
joints made of
crayola wrappers
kissing the lips
of the latest suicide
girl to get lost on
this side of the
world
this one is the one
i'm sure this time
can't you just see
us holding hands
on this yellow
brick road to
nowhere
someone has
mistaken bliss
for reality
i was certain this
generation didn't
want to know
about sadness
J.J. Campbell (1976 - soon) lives and writes on a farm in Ohio. He's been widely published over the years, most recently at This is Poetry Project, The Blind Vigil Revue, The Camel Saloon, ZYX, and Dead Snakes. His latest book, Sofisticated White Trash (Interior Noise Press, 2013) is available wherever people buy books these days. You can find him most days bitching about something on his highly entertaining blog, evil delights (http://evildelights.blogspot.com).
No comments:
Post a Comment