Knocked Up Lullaby

I hate rhyming poems… I always feel that they’re more of a game than an art… But whatever… It was an assignment…

It’s hardly three but the earth still sizzles

While dusty puppets move antique visions

Behind whit light hiding sleeping missiles

Boys: they spit and say “shit” and ram keys into fault ignitions

Trucks raised, girls knocked, men smoke, the smell of wet children lump

Bomb shelters sneak under our while picket cores

Men grow straight but girls grow bump and bump and bump

So we push babies and paint scarlet the whores

And some old man charged with ferment starts to yell

“Who the fuck? Do you know who the fuck? Shut your mouth.”

The cheese cloth could carry us all the way to hell

And so we dropped the shell down in America’s South

Mouths they open, legs they open, doors they shut

They shut, they shut, they shut hard.

~ by carik on July 31, 2008.