bob munchkin had a rifle in his silver pants

lungs rising from the smoke
the man dipped slowly into cement
wagged and waved
cautiously insane
creeping past the bed womb
with his eyes on the guy’s prize
ova paranoia on the foyer
past regret in a handicap spot
whistling Bob Munchkin
had a rifle in his silver pants
ova and ova

with the moon’s death
he would cease seizing
and finger the home from here
sleeping dead forever
‘till the bitchslappin’ sun
steals his chains and underwear
and people must be dealt with
one way or another

he would exist limitless
if he knew how to milk that cow
pale and centuries old
parked in the shade shimmering
with god stuff
and money bursting from the holy ass

The bottom’s gonna come up suchly
and kneecaps are gonna shatter
he knew he saw the future
somewhere close


Filed under poetry, published work

2 responses to “bob munchkin had a rifle in his silver pants

  1. Nice ending. Great title too. Keep it up, hope all is well.

  2. john c sweet

    the way you shifted from the beginning to the ending was seamless with some profound metaphorical play interspersed..the image was priceless and i loved your interpretation of such..

    great work, thanks for reading mine on Haggard


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