GUTTED

12.25.11

GUTTED

It requires a purge 

putting thoughts into words, 

but my impulse invites sensual swallows, 

rather than an explosive upsurge. 

Filled to anxious overflow 

my bloated belly grows hollow, 

weighted by unspoken stones 

it refuses to digest or submerge. 

While women in skyscraper shoes 

babble gossip of celebrity news, 

cracks in caked face paint reveal 

their invisible permanent bruise. 

Everything 

is theirs 

to lose.
And tone deaf

bejeweled ears
ring shallow.

Purple privileged 

imaginations unused, 

insatiable eyes grow bigger. 

Vomitus ascends, 

and it's too late 

to pull the trigger.