SELECTED POETRY

by
R.C. Edrington

HOMIE LOVER FRIEND

only things
we truly shared
in this 6 month barrio cliché
homie-lover-friend affair
where we isolated our souls
& nearly rotted away
like 2 lost alien crash victims
on that blood-piss-shit & cum
tapestry of mattress
tossed like another useless
& wasted sack of flesh
in that water logged
corner bedroom
in Joe's abandoned house,
were a few 5 star
fucks & sucks -
a handful of dull
dirty hypodermics
& about 8 ounces
of that cheap sugar cut
Mexican heroin,
so how can you be
that shocked Katrina?
when the dope ran out
& so did I -
I may have not returned
with tattooed arms
full of red roses
or those 2 lapis
& sterling silver
bear claw engagement rings
you spoke circles about,
but I didn't leave you
with Hep C
or HIV either.

© RC Edrington

---

FOR LACK OF BULLETS

the Johnny Walker bottle
lay empty & too bad
the .22 that lurks
beneath this cigarette
scarred mattress
does too

tonight death
tongues my ear
like a sickly whore
in need of el curación...
one more taste
to course the veins

& I offer
no more poetical devices,
no more lame attempts
to purge some fresh
hip language
from this rotten core

& this is not
a poem,
this is no syringe
tossed into
the moldy haystack
of drunken macho man
literature

this is last call
in a Mexican barroom
where marijuana
& cigarette smoke
stifle the air
like cheap perfume
that drowns a toothless
$10 whore
who sits with one eye
cocked in boredom
as you finger your change
for a Mexican taxi

each blackened peso
a memory romanticized
through a thin veil
of alcohol
dope and time

a time when
the world was a flirt
that shivered the senses
in slutty whispers,
& none of your lovers
gorged the last
blood drop
from your sun-chapped soul,
as they lay overdosed
on a stainless steel slab
like a freshly hooked trout,
waiting to be gutted.

© RC Edrington

---

5:24 a.m.

awakened by your
bastard god's
drunken fingers
that shatter the thin
ceramic bones
of my fragile brain
like a whiskey bottle
splashed into
a puke stained
warehouse wall

early morning birds
cackle to flames
like typewriter paper
fisted into tiny
balls & tossed
into the dying fire
of a lit oil drum

while the city street
shrieks & shuffles
to life
thru my dull veins
like a poor cut
of cheap
Mexican heroin

© RC Edrington

---

SHIT

I hide
the fact I write
the way I once hid
my track marks
beneath
long flannel
shirt sleeves
years before
grunge music
sucked the tit
of punk rock

it's not that
I regret anything
I've ever done
I just don't want
my stuff
blended in
with all you
lame fucks
that should regret
what you do

bukowski said
"write what you know"
& after dozing
thru a few incestual
open mic
poetry circle jerks
it's obvious
you fucks
know little

so I don't blame
the American public
for not buying
this poetry shit
I blame you
for wiping
your pimpled ass
in there face

© RC Edrington

---

40

words rip
sleep from my eyes
like a rapist knife
in desire of flesh

to drag me
by the hair
like a cheap whore
to bash my nose
into a blood speckled
mirror stained

by snot tears
and bone
my black eyes empty
as the syringe
that hides
cocked like a cobra
in the rusty
medicine cabinet

words slice
the sternum
crack the ribs
to peel away
tattooed skin
to shock a heartbeat
from this shell
of a man
overdosed
on the boredom
of sad middle-age

© RC Edrington

---

BUDDHA SHOT DOPE

cold, dingy
stucco walls
cracked like
weathered
babydoll porcelain
echo saxaphone sobs
& muffled screams

as Buddha boils
in a bent charcoal
tainted spoon,
his god tears
purified thru
a cotton swab

nirvana rushes warmly
thru my caved vein
to wash away
the chalk outline
that stains
my trash scarred
mind

in a whispered
tribute to Jen's OD
& her innocence
consecrated
one blow job
at a time
bartered for
the purest
dime paper
cut of heaven

© RC Edrington

---

Your first name:	Your URL:
Use the box below to leave messages for RC. Begin Message: For RC Edrington