2 Poems by
Lynne Douglass
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In a House in Suburbia
She's in a passive apocalyptic
kind of way
she's in blue chenille pilled
thread bare gown
worn at the nipples
mosquito netting
peek a boo ya don't wanna see
even in a mental periphery
Her head's cocked
twirling cadavered final net hair
taking a 3/4 inch barrel
overchemicalized chunk of curl
and twisting twisting twisting
twisting over over over what's she doing
that for?
She's letting out a fat bouncing
wheeze chuckle belly laugh
at bad cheese television show
has an almost Depends moment
I'm wonderin why she doesn't
just let it go
on the floor
like the dogs do
in ammoniaville
She needs a Baptism
by flea dip
She can't handle fire.
Untitled
Sour grapes
of wrath
and writhing
all you know
sebacious cysts
and boils
of infinite loathing
between the folds
of your soul
It's all you know.
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