"Bent Rusty Can Opener" by Rob Plath

heat is thick


makes you want

to unzip your

flesh from

your frame


walk around

as skeleton


litter box


even tho



line of mildew

on lip

of fridge door

is thicker, blacker


toilet tank

beads with sweat

like human brow


here, air is



here, air is

fucking ancient


the cats stretch

out on floor

on their sides

heat forcing them

from typical

circular, sage-like

curled-up position


box fan whirls

hot, sticky air



naked king lear

on the cliff

was right

when shakey made

him say that

unaccomodated man

is a fucking

two-legged animal


i feel like a

hot, angry

upright dog


but he also said

later on in play

that if you can say

that life is bad

then it isn't bad



i've come to conclusion

that i'm bitching now


millions of voiceless

have descended into

a black pit where they

cannot even utter a word


now where go with

this deflated poem?


its paper hooks won't

fish even one of the

mad mutes

from the dark well


i'm holding

an unpractical thing

in my hands now


like a bent

rusty can opener


like a pissed off

spackler in a bar

told me once


poetry is such

bullshit a lot of

the time