Have a Knife Day!
by Ryan Buynak

Limb to limb
and mouth to mouth,
I awake Monday.

This knife is made out of an old
railroad spike.
And this knife is made of an old

My knees are made of bone, and sinew.

Today’s sharp,
and you are like a candle

Got a local haircut,
went to drown in Midtown;
ate lunch in the middle
of a thousand sad sandwiches.

Hustle here and swamp there,
while the epidermis whiles away.
I sweat at the temple,
cutting twice as nice.

Collar bones be pretty
and equal headaches,
cut my boredom with loud life.
He’s thirty plus one:
They say
about me.

A girl sits in the sun,
her body seems to melt
onto the ledge like a Hershey’s kiss.
I watch this.
Another gal had the bottom half of her
jet-black hair dipped in hot pink.
Another had a thick layer of makeup
covering her beautiful ugly face.

The myriad microscopic day
runs away with my muse minutes.
Cut me ten by thee.

Ryan Buynak is a terrible person who happens to be the future of American poetics. He lives and leaks in New York City.

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