Ted Berrigan and The Pulled Pork Bunch, My 'O' My by Frank Reardon

Too many have laughed while cutting
my throat.
I watched Ted Berrigan's ghost run out
the back door, he carried a sack of bone
dust,
I never really wanted to die that much.

Bullwhips cracking upon my back, hand cuffed
to the telephone pole.
I was in plain sight for the Doo wop dogs on
Main St. while being sodomized by last years
sermon on lacing up your boots,
Four are dead after getting into it.

Too many missing immigrants never knew
how to turn around and feel,
It might have been my fault as I tend to feel
like a lazy bar.

My eyes always seem to change color when
the dogs mist is in the northern hemisphere.

I am anyone to me, a perfect feeling when electricity
is away from home,
A tiny calm while the dynamite waits for the answer
deep inside my stomach.

Watching something stunning float inside my glass
of half filled anxiety,
I move with the nervous pee pee in the pants girls.
I think their brains melted, sometimes we can get
confused with the My 'O' My.

My bones are of rubber,
long and pulled,
I've watched too many atrocities on the roadside,
Ted Berrigan's bunch just tasted that pork of mine.
Sometimes,
you just have to make no sense at all to find the correct
answers.