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"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

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