Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

I'd been pounding the underwood all night, sulking for
the lovely whore of words the nose-flute of words the
kettledrum reverberating of them in yr mind yr ears yr
groin & belly & finally sulking for their uselessness
their inadequacy... & Bobby Frink came by & drove me
to the Pizza Hut & bought me beers beers beers &
it was 12:30 closing time & while walking home slow just
staring at the maniac rose-full moon I saw this tall
chick with her Lil Abner Long Sam body & ass-length
dark red hair... I introduced myself as the greatest
living poet of Normal Illinois & she'd heard about me
cause its always in the local papers how I'm in jail
for narcotics or assault or for trashing telephone
booths that steal yr last dime -- it gets around...
we end up in her bathtub doing all these nice slippery
things & then something special & juicy with her straw-
berry glycerine soap & it was one of the good nights
the fine nights, a night that comes along once in a
while when you can take off yr mask & just freak all
night without talking... shit, you have to have a
night like that sometimes or its all a drag a mask a
role, a Big Rig truckstop with lukewarm showers &
bad hamburgers... but then it was Thursday morning &
I fell asleep just as her old man came in -- I told
him how Bad I was but he kicked my ass anyway -- well
all I really wanted to say was how some of us die
screaming some howling with laughter some just rotting
away in the arms of that Bitch-Death State... I want
to try it all before I go & if you think that straw-
berry soap wasnt worth a crack on the jaw then yr
rotting away already...