goodnight you sickly and fat
swilling night-on-the-town rat,
you beautiful bile-on-her-gown rat.
how brave your festering boils raised
relentlessly, shouting and spitting
your insides without fear.
what the fuck do i care!
you would chant at me
and though i am you and you are
us i could never truly embrace
the rust.
us creepy crawly nasties aren’t made for the long-term
and he left shelled gorgeous gropers like roadside litter
rooted and rallying evenly spaced mile markers
speckling and sparkling during nightfall,
wes’ needles and scraps shoved into his soiled
pant pockets while he grins into stars left parts of him pasted
in the drawing room on hillhurst in tamates in wurzburg
laughing his throat wide fucking open-
wry smile
secret trial:
.38 special
meet temple.
Rest, finally, In Peace
Wesley Carls
November 11, 1963- June 8, 2012.
