Ripping cardboard boxes to shreds with incomplete orgasms,
your grimy nails scratched beneath my very beginning,
anger nor frustration could almost describe satisfactions,
peel back our clear sticky tape to reveal the gleen grinning.
if possessed by a familiar boar spirit use every arm muscle sleeve,
stomach that which did the damages deep inside our box,
when the cardboard is equipped to rip it’s time not to breathe
rippling fragments unevened the floor with the dog watching clocks.
a sea of sickness came over me and we ripped more boxes to a shred,
we could not stop until they envisioned the enemy scorned,
my ripped little pieces are wanting to die more than being dead,
the whole aching heart was recycled silly after being stabbed & warned.
Transmogrified from ‘Cardboard’ by Kristina Farrow
dead beat poet 