Little Bo Eberhardt, aka Kevin

Little Bo Eberhardt?

What kind of shit is that
The coroner can’t even
Pry my lips apart the
Leguminous paste gluing
My tongue to the roof of
My mouth my teeth
Compressed mid-chew my
Hands coated in this
Thick substance fingered
Fresh from the jar can’t
Say I wasn’t warned but
Who really listens any
More ain’t nothin’ better
In the morning than stale
Bread aggressively toasted
Smothered in waves of
Thick peanut butter chased
Down with lukewarm coffee 
Well maybe sex & that
Wouldn’t be a bad way to
Go either lips glued together
In much the same fashion
Different paste of course
Can’t imagine puttin’ that
On toast but anything’s
Possible I guess

* * * * *

By Kevin Eberhardt, included in the Crisis Chronicles Library by permission.

For more Kevin Eberhardt work, please check out his blog:
as well as
and several issues of
The City Poetry (

His work can also be found accompanying images
  by London photographer Richard Byerley at

Contact northern Ohio poet Kevin Eberhardt at