Sean Kilpatrick
2 poems
**
Raconteur Program for the Freshly Castrated
Add three squirts of piano
to make the joke breathe.
Breathing is a last resort.
I have refused to sing in rooms
lapped dead by the hate of pale bodies.
Crucify my reflection with yeast.
Let my dying fancy pet the veins in your eyes
and I will believe your killing me is for the best.
A professional masochist will talk about love.
My tongue is a latent period
in need of scalpels.
This castration goes all the way up to eleven.
**
Milking the In-Laws and Other Clichés
I insist on meeting your mother,
milking her like a cow, in fact.
Carry her out, rocking chair and all,
for the meatier lustfuls to suck on.
Children and dogs get your greedy
bucket-shaped pupils in line.
I’ve been practicing how to sit down
for years. Soon I will be my own boss.
I’ll spend company vacations on fire.
Benefits include the most swollen breast
until either I or it turns grey and withers dead.
My hump is in storage, you little toast.
Pick the floral umbrage of your stomach.
I want to see you continuing upward
in a more permanent clench.
The mercurial diarrhea of your generosity
helps everything die better.
So, the command list ends.
I need you no more.
P.S. – I told the insurance agency
to prank you with good news.
**
return to sawbuck 1.9
**
Sean Kilpatrick resides in Detroit, MI, maintains an author interview blog, and is published or forthcoming in La Petite Zine, MiPoesias, Action Yes, alice blue, elimae, horse less review, Kulture Vulture, melancholia's tremulous dreadlocks, Pindeldyboz, 5_trope, zafusy. Contact him at: cauliflowersuitcase@hotmail.com
**
Raconteur Program for the Freshly Castrated
Add three squirts of piano
to make the joke breathe.
Breathing is a last resort.
I have refused to sing in rooms
lapped dead by the hate of pale bodies.
Crucify my reflection with yeast.
Let my dying fancy pet the veins in your eyes
and I will believe your killing me is for the best.
A professional masochist will talk about love.
My tongue is a latent period
in need of scalpels.
This castration goes all the way up to eleven.
**
Milking the In-Laws and Other Clichés
I insist on meeting your mother,
milking her like a cow, in fact.
Carry her out, rocking chair and all,
for the meatier lustfuls to suck on.
Children and dogs get your greedy
bucket-shaped pupils in line.
I’ve been practicing how to sit down
for years. Soon I will be my own boss.
I’ll spend company vacations on fire.
Benefits include the most swollen breast
until either I or it turns grey and withers dead.
My hump is in storage, you little toast.
Pick the floral umbrage of your stomach.
I want to see you continuing upward
in a more permanent clench.
The mercurial diarrhea of your generosity
helps everything die better.
So, the command list ends.
I need you no more.
P.S. – I told the insurance agency
to prank you with good news.
**
return to sawbuck 1.9
**
Sean Kilpatrick resides in Detroit, MI, maintains an author interview blog, and is published or forthcoming in La Petite Zine, MiPoesias, Action Yes, alice blue, elimae, horse less review, Kulture Vulture, melancholia's tremulous dreadlocks, Pindeldyboz, 5_trope, zafusy. Contact him at: cauliflowersuitcase@hotmail.com
