500 Advanced Phrasal Verbs



Melted up
             unable any longer to
loaf into
             a maligned circadian rhythm, we
graft astowards
             the docility of legislative object.
             Such pliancy makes it difficult even
             to masturbate on the sofa at 4 AM—
             so I detumesce in my palm, have a non-wank
             to the meiosis of our
being juggled out of
             flesh and
             tenoned number.
             If there’s to be any chance of getting through
             the mortise will have to
hole out
             (for pricks like me) into analogy
             a thing to
do off out into for.




             So keen is the guilt that it must be real
blent inthrough
             the machinery, to be offset only when I
wake through
             money, when I
lucre it out
             or when I
slot to.
             Or when the body politic
discorporates opposite
             seeing itself finally as a vulnerable écorché
             with muscles learnable into wyrd design(s)
             and bones amenable to creative ossature.




             How deep am I into those days
             the world’s ommatidia
can’t saw
             dirty with scotomata(s) I
be’d onto
             them, these days when we couldn’t see each other (I
was myself out
             of it, and it likewise
was’d me out
             ). I
fell awake with
             world, was
tickled into
             the road.




             The little boy who
gagged down
             his apology, near-yoked by words
             into formal contrition, dreamt a new archetype
             of burnt mother
constricted down into
             lupine denial of the stepfather he
screamed inverse
             after he was
thrown still
             on his sister’s birthday.




             Wild, hominid blood
checked under
             by the great styptic, I have learned to hate you nature
             in other seas, and to fear it in my own as dreadful, or weak
             and both. I had almost
turned wrong
             the can’t into a moral won’t
subrepted above
defected beyond
             the future of what I will never reject—the world become
             words that would be charged only towards euphony. [O]
             most etiolated music[!] I am walking down the road…
             I am walking down the road, waiting for the dog that will
bound upthrough
             me as a revenant congener to wolves, that I might finally
horripilate out of
             despair, or
shrivel into




[Colin Lee Marshall is an Englishman living in South Korea. He recently began writing poetry as a kind of perverse response to (and respite from) his ongoing efforts to make inroads into the Korean language.]

Copyright © 2014 by Colin Lee Marshall, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of Copyright law. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the notification of the journal and consent of the author.