deer ticks hid in a swollen socket & i found a lake full of crocodile piss

By Graham Irvin

deer ticks hid in a swollen socket

i was a lamb with speech impediments

the river had sex

where it broke the dirt

our beaver pelts grew trailer fungus

in a lounge made of chewed sinew

the blood didn’t matter

i collected retro vinyl

and car accidents

a pack of wild dogs

gave birth to a sink hole

the scabs stopped heating up

my snakeskin rug

was featured in forbes magazine

the willow trees whispered

go fuck yourself

i found a lake full of crocodile piss

with google maps near taco bell

i drove the fastest route to sustenance

my mantra was don’t waste no time

life was an unnecessary journey

the cashier was on a path to enlightenment

with a melon baller in my stomach

hot steel lanced an ingrown hair

i was absorbed into month old pus

i grinned like a dog running for president

the newspaper became a father to me

fraternity housing was shaped like a police siren

the biggest crime was committing a crime

reference books nodded their cardboard visors

we ignored death with a cup of coffee

Graham Irvin lives in North Carolina. His writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Maudlin House, Soft Cartel, The Nervous Breakdown, and X-R-A-Y Literary Magazine. Follow him on twitter @grahamjirvin.


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