holding m&ms


in the palm of my hand
clenched fist, honestly
not caring if the reds
greens browns or


the blues melt
color flesh
stain the leg

my fist lies on
looks like it died
the rigor mortis clutch


sliding a rainbow
down my inner thigh
the heat, flies


in the dumpster below
where i'm perched
like a crow eyeing
moldy cantaloupe greasy fries


empty beer bottles and cans
coors millers iron city
light


to pick out a poem
from the trash.










this is the poem i "picked" from that garbage dumpster.