Monday, March 30, 2009

Fertile Mind

I can't stand a boy from class. His nose sticks up
like a pig's snout, and I'm not certain, but I think
his teeth are squared chunks of the moon that

fell into his open mouth
like crazy swaying towers while he
slept. He's driven by detail, the kind that pisses

you off whether you're on or off the chopping
block. It's the kind that makes you instantly
fall in love with someone

else. I don't like to look at him,
but when he speaks I find myself staring at his
fingers. Curved at the knuckles like an arthritic

professor's or the hand from that famous
painting of creation. His skin is stained
pink with marker from rants at the board,

and he reminds me of someone full of shit, but he's
made up of real shit. No fillers. Repetitive shit.
The kind you'd find from a cow or a horse.

The same shit. But it's the kind that grows stuff.