I told Pumpkin
about your heart--
how it couldn't be broadcast, even locally.
Is fucking finding? No.
My life, yours, Pumpkin's,
are like collars fitted to only one neck. 
Right, girl?

Pumpkin is poemless, unlike me.
For her, shit is shit;
she's not sentimental.
She finds dead hearts, shakes them apart--
comes home looking pleased. 

A flash 55 for my BFF.


angie said…
Ah, the poet as pet. Down, girl
Sioux Roslawski said…
Perfect pup for the poem...
hedgewitch said…
First--the pic!!! Oik! Then, the spot on poem--just when I think you've amazed me to the max(with your last one) you prove you can do it again in a totally different way. I have to say, if you can find a Pumpkin, keep her. "about how it couldn't be broadcast, even locally.." that kills, girl. There hardly seems to be a need to tell you to do any additional asskicking this weekend, after this.
Sherry Blue Sky said…
As Joy says, you amaze, one poem after the other. I especially like the collars fitted to one neck.
Kerry O'Connor said…
Right, girl!
Is fucking finding? What a great rhetorical question that is.
Sanaa Rizvi said…
The rhetorical question just blew me away! Such a power-packed write, Shay!
Magaly Guerrero said…
Sometimes poetry is all teeth and ripping.

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