2 poems from "Bloody Nose" (my next collection) which is close to being done

Eating my Words

While trying to conjure up
my soul,
I chomp on Fries
Meat
and bread.
I've had many writing blocks,
enough to build a toy mountain.
I put all the blocks together,
It takes 500 years,
of sweat,
and blood,
and death.
Words come out
like sludgy, red, ketchup
from the packet,
soaking
on a cardboard tray.
My words feel small,
smaller than grains of salt
and pepper.

I eat my words and they digest slow as a slug grazing on a damp porch.





Polo,
If you could only keep a fucking secret
we could break our wrists
on wooden head boards.
if you were more animal than human
we could fuck like hammers.
If you had the slightest idea
the cat would claw its way out of the bag.
Since there's so much more you want to know
i'll keep it until you're good
and dead.
Love,
Marco