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Poetry by Tempest Miller

RUPERT CRASH

breadwinner eating limeys

the English off their ships and coming home

and Rupert Crash back home

rrrrr crash

he sticks Q-tips in his ears walking stiff knees

hardly a gait, hardly

was an eclectic time, inhaled passively

with that girl who he did shangai stirfry with

now standing in this Dustbowl encroaching on him like marine snakes

his apartment performs vivisections on him

he has pills for giving up wanking

they make him wet the bed

Porton Down comes to visit his home

and his jewellery box is confiscated for producing self-design rhinestones

piss on that mattress that twenty years before (Odysseus)

Rupert made out with Judy on the patch where he spilled blood

in his maiden attempt at vampirism but passed it off as cranberry juice

his gibbous back looked like it had swimming fins in the notches

his spleen is still disfigured and brine and soap suds enter the welts

welts he made from self-flogging on the crescent boulevard

he’s procured a Wetherspoons stink to his trousers

piss and fermentation on the troglodyte

he’s a scummy paddlefish hung in a dive bar

he shakes like a cappuccino machine, cholera-ridden and twitchy

boots in the mud and geography professor jumper

his mucus-stained affection for companions could be superficially gray

something rosy emerges from behind his cracked sunglasses, aged 68

an agnostic rosary

looking like John Mearsheimer even at 24

but with ugly eyeliner

and his cheeks more Madchester 1990s opiates affected

rrrrr crash is in a thousand year dynasty

pouring end to end like in an hourglass

he will let it die in his balls, flush it down the refilling toilet

gray and legs in the windowless seat of the pub, dry, melting as slow as a glacier

sorrowful, uncrying because of a steer in chemistry to starboard

rollerblading over a street of bounty hunters Rupert pushes

Rupert plucks

he walks to slay the suitors who he turns down

he’s a cocktail-shape of a body, pulling a sled like a mule

a putrid trendy machine once — pristine and horrid

pristine shoulders protruding from vest

now drab now drrrrr crash

all the wiser onwards and upwards

as he remains an oik forever

fondling the change from his pocket at the vending machine

which says Are You Thirsty?’ in pink letters

maybe taste forever

with your auto-handjobbing tongue

in front of the dirty plexiglass home, dog kennel

fell like a Southern Belle with fingers in a libertine hoop skirt

rinsed, pasted

Tempest Miller

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