Charles Musser
I Am Going Drown
I am going drown through bankrupt spring.
I am crying rat! through moldy days.
I’m a poking rib, a walking wing.
I’ve got my money peeled. Accountants gaze
upon my shack of grave and giggle Pray!
My lead-hulled ship’s a joke, a fucking phase,
they say. By night you’ll sink, capsize by day.
Be careful of the hole. Step in the hole.
If I weren’t drunking moot, I’d make them pay!
Comes my digging after morning mole.
Comes my threnody with howls of evening.
Comes the taxman’s unborn, cricket soul.
I’m a tuna teaching whales to sing.
I am going drown through bankrupt spring.
Charles Musser lives in Lansing Michigan, and works for the American Red Cross. His work has appeared in The Shit Creek Review, Umbrella, The Sow's Ear Poetry Review, Mimesis, and other venues, both pixel and print. He enjoys wilderness hiking with his golden retriever, Benjamin.
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