Search
  • a.p. duvall

Death is a Pontiac

I was facing west trying to redirect my thoughts I had

From evil to unwritten code

Because I had been reading earlier that day books

Given to me by one of your enemies

That was about an ancient Greek's philosophy

On morality and the like

And I thought that maybe the man was right

And I decided to be righteous towards a memory of you and resist

My instantaneous urge to deliver you violence.


So a thought of your laughter,

A thought of the sigh you did when we laid together,

The sigh you gave me when you closed your eyes as

You dug your head deeper in my chest,

The three blinks that fluttered your eyelashes when you were awaken

By my stirring,

Or the sun coming in the room,

Or the shuffling of feet off in the distance on the rough carpet,

The roll of your pupils from one side to the opposite upper corner when

I suggest the bizarre or the romantic,

Or the longing gaze you once gave at a stone

I had skipped across the tides of a black ocean

After you told me it was mine to do with what I pleased.


But no thought would keep and always dredged away

From the railroad track

They were on by a magnet catalyst

That not only demanded but needed

The merge = it needed into the next thought

Only to end with a sufficient amount of a story

Told by these scenes that effectively portrayed

A psychoanalytic serene accepted violence

That is explained much the same way as

The way I used to justify the thrusts of the hips

Of us and all and reasoned that we are being fed to the void

And leave a fraction of ourselves behind

To be taken in another time until the void is satisfied

And we all were back down the nothingness

That would be used to solve the Queen of the Known's question.


But the reflected thoughts were hard to translate

Because the came in on a frequency

On the radio station far off in the distance

And was picking up white noise, no noise,

And that country station over in Nashville

And the children and the child are getting busy

Making up solutions to the rhetoric of the muddied and

Torn page that was

TAKENTAKENTAKENTAKEN

From a book about war and

Disillusion


And I stand in empty light baring my soul and stripping it naked


You can achieve the worst in any man if you act like the invisible


And I stand in the metal stained metropolis apocalypse


You can appease the diseased dirty deed achieved jealousy

Of the leper at heart disguised in the dark

Who criticizes whomever he may lease and feels he needs too


And I stand on the edge of your arm away from harm

And the coldness keeping warm by dancing from night to morn

While reading the manifesto of the man who was seldom

Seen by the social scene and was who's portrait was painted

By a man with eyes like a spider.


You can read between the lines of the bricks

That was masoned by the tricked and pricked

Bees who smelled the thorn and not the rose

And gave what they owned the scorpion the vulture

And the snake-skinned and un-Godly thin

Man who came from San Bernardino


And I stand where I stand I make up my plans and shake the hands

Of the savage bag man that might snap the spine

Of the innocent virgin minds who soak in the sun

With margaritas looking across the river at the island


You can wrap your pretty fingers round he tail of the lizard

Who lingers and just before you fling him up at the helicopter

As he screams to his mother father and sister mercy

Driven to edge of moral explosion


Show me where it hurts

Show me where it hurts

Show me where it hurts

And I'll scratch that itch

Show me where it hurts

Show me where it hurts

Show me where it hurts

I'll turn you in a numb bitch

Show me where it hurts

Show me where it hurts

Show me where it hurts

I'll make sure get my fix

Show me where it hurts

Show me where it hurts

Show me where it hurts

Trust me and shut your lips

Show me where it hurts

Show me where it hurts

Show me where it

4 views

Recent Posts

See All

Pleasure-Rama

So, there was this mile long snake in my front yard. He'd been slithering past all day it seemed, and I could still pick out shapes of what the damn thing had ate. There was a wheelchair (sans owner),

Last Living Anarchist

Say hello to the last living Anarchist Say hello to the fast dealing switch Straight and narrow strayed the arrow and forever was he taught a glass and mutable thought in a subterranean husk mimicking

Golgatha in 25 km.

Twas 14th century China, and I was perched on my village's highest defense wall, looking out into the heavens on this one particular summer evening, when it happened to me. I was concentrating a parti

© 2020 by a.p. duvall.
  • Twitter