4 poems -
Garlic invades my apple. Thighs pubesce, they stomp up &
down the stairs,
cursing faucets, rattling suitcases, crying the whole time for
silver creamers. I try to stay myself but the livingroom’s
machetes me fundamentally. Yellow & lavender, sweet disciplinarians,
ancestors & their photographs inside denied figs, their
indifferent to desert migrations, red robes, indifferent to
cut tongues, the
violence of concrete. Calves come down from the mountains to
be smeared on
rocks. I build ambrosia & stenotypes without the river.
The sun disintegrates,
the door can’t muffle blood, the coffeetable’s 32bit
playground. Birds forget
radar to deliver food to. A yellowjacket, its head lopped off
death, infiltrating the periphery. A voice with diamond stirrups
together glycerin & a flag & a plumbline, it says my
duty is to allow the paste
to penetrate my beveled armpits. I’m not to float above
the neck, praying for
shrapnelfree life or wrestling serenades. Tornados see only
themselves, they go
about circling their neighbors’ sandbox. Roads’
cities go where tents once
stood. Water to be drilled presses fiberglass, to carbondate
books, claw the
surname, its inheritance, its inherent status. Last Halloween’s
freed from their tombs, turn to paper & all around sprouts
razorwire. White ears plummet through elaborate baskets, unable
to believe in
their pastel eggs.
We between Halltop & East Fork, delapidations where Grandpas
We the old republic, glasspack exhaust, drafting, anonymous,
We with orangestruts, 2” lift, knobbytired, eyebrow salute,
posture our necks
We at Shoney’s nightowl breakfastbar, celebrating over
gravy & bacon & grits
We Wranglerized, Chippewacalved, snakeskin imitations, Earnhardtcapped
We rust, Bond-O fendered, rearspoilered, Enkeirimmed, neon groundeffects
We plaza, the Sky City’s first Pac-Man, Camelot Cinema’s
We mullet aficionados, windshield’s adhesive film, cartoons
We this Russ Ave artery, tires that sqawl, undigital, this existential
We in Camaros & Mustangs, pickups, Turtlewax, bumpers snapping
We Kickers, isobaric bassrattled trunkthrob, consoleslouch,
We mindsmokers, pitrow the Hot Spot, for Mountain Dew spitoons,
We the infield, thronged, tailgate legswingers, parkinglot’s
We in traffic, blinkerlines, the MickeyDees hairpin, the jockey
A blank clips black to mesh, a spike to the first finger.
Looking for some wrong greys the lakes.
I haven’t vibrated in 3 years.
I swallow the clock & leave its bones near the airport
to terrify gaps that
Horses gallop across green boxes.
My signatures & lakes & billows manipulate ledges.
A keyboard takes the shape of a window spread flat.
A filingcabinet’s banged with a stick, an arm carries
I stop generating bridges.
Who am I to think I bleed?
Who am I to be a nexus for textual oil?
Who am I touching a disk that holds another disk that holds?
Pins prick the walls, blue ribbons sidle tubes.
Photocopies along the river are crude, made first of twigs,
The whirled flicks the corner of a triangle in me.
I fall where rocks tear peaches.
A thumbprint resonates a gold compliment from an orange runway.
The lamp swivels, blue putty inchworms across the table.
The ability to concentrate’s on vacation.
No, not vacationing, it’s lost on aleutians, primordial
& without sensible
chutes or weighs to eat small crabs.
I’m the only one in my office, I’m with papers
& books, the deskcalendar, the
I’m the only one who sees a V.
Of the angles that propel the body, I’ve named 2: 1’s
Marilyn, 1’s Cadillac.
Digits want to sell me something.
A reed’s entangled in color & idea.
A read’s thin, it gives in the wind.
The legs’ wires slouch from going over & over the
A woman in a bookstore waits furlined among the shelves, glistening
She’s clef to my pitch, its pith & its depletion.
A claspedhand’s a claspedhand, a claspedhand behind the
back’s a rally to the
dissolution of claspedhands.
I raze the city with renewal.