Poetry Archives Bio
December 24, 2017
11:43 AM
desmond doss, spiderman

To Rod Moody-Corbett

exact change is a matter of life and death

the city is empty
the loudest cars still belong to the blacks

the jets fly overhead
the boys and girls play separate sports

the old man paints a picture of durian gay
using nothing but crushed hibiscus and gasoline

the black army mom in the red KUWAIT hoodie
waits for breakfast

here you must carry it all with you

your trash
                your sadneſs
                                   your precious bodily fluids

near the old graveyard
a little way from the centre of the village

the diver falls into the umbilical deep
the moon is here with him too

the vomit bakes in the sun

the gentle wind reminds the poet
of the smell of tatami mats and old things

the colourful offerings lie on the altar
the priest beats a drum while intoning a prayer

the childless couple offer gifts to buddha
the goats dance towards the clock above the exit sign

the army bros brag about poon tang and cash
the self is revealed high on the ferris wheel

(beware of cars with plates that start with why

two boys play too close to the side of the road

the strange man imagines a faceful of shrapnel
running after a runaway yellow ball

the poet laughs sincerely at his fate
as it begins to pour