Month: November 2015

We painted the doors shut and fucked with the light
that’s linked to so many switches and never
lights the room.

Then we unplugged the house and now the waste
from our late night meals and clothes from our bedtime all work equally well for effigy or efferent,
shroud or sanctuary

Then the clones of small crops grew from the cellar in the dark, stunted and wrinkled yet energetic,
but the dark itself is now crusty and unassertive,
humic, stale.

As such there is no light to warm the indigence in our embrace
but at least the heat expelled from us no longer tastes like shag,
or Christmas electrical fires.

We painted the door shut and each of us fucked with the other,
you who is linked to so much indecision, and me who never lights up a room

There is no chickenshit in turd golf
You are not to remove Stones, Bones,
or furious Broken Club for the sake of playing your turd,
-except upon the fair Green, & that only within a Club’s length of your turd-

Neither Trench, Ditch, or Dyke made for the preservation of the Links,
the Scholar’s Holes or the Soldier’s Lines, shall be accounted a Hazard.
The turd is to be taken out, Tee’d and play’d with any Iron Club.

If your turd come among Water- or any Watery filth-
you are obliged to take out your turd & bring it behind the hazard and Tee it.
You must play it with any Club and allow your Adversary a Stroke, for so getting out your turd.

To any person, Horse, Dog, or anything Else: The turd must be play’d where it lies.
There is no backswing in turd golf
But everyone gets a fair shake as the dog leg left sometime ago