Digging Up Wallace Stevens While High On Two Hits of X
Boy, I was high, and the shovel
Was in my hand. Dig, dig, dig,
All night long. Yes, I felt his polished
Meter in my penis, yearned for the touch
Of what was left of his ossified
Lawyer's body. Enjambment. Hell,
I was buzzing hard, and I felt love.
I put his bones in my piece of shit Lincoln.
If the poetry of X was music
He'd have enjoyed what I did to him then,
Oh Pleasure! Pleasure! Scott Joplin on my radio.
Outside, no birds were singing.
A smell of soil was in the wind.