"Bent Rusty Can Opener" by Rob Plath
heat is thick
today
makes you want
to unzip your
flesh from
your frame
walk around
as skeleton
litter box
stinks
even tho
scooped
line of mildew
on lip
of fridge door
is thicker, blacker
toilet tank
beads with sweat
like human brow
here, air is
unconditioned
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
around
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
afterall
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