Chicano Poet

Thursday, June 27, 2013

Butchershop Quartet

The butcherman
sat upright

his wayward daughter
had run off

with what was left
of puberty

the flaming streets

lonely nails
flagged down a taxi

the driver's face
of yellow teeth

a bird's vagina
dangled in the sky

if you raise a daughter
like magma

why not
carve up the butcher paper.


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