Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Last Nights of the Island

What in Indo-Chinese sounds scandalous

Herds useless terms before us as we bow

Supplicant to the swirling appending of ice

Cream on the Dairy Queen sign.

Truth

To say we only just got one in our town,

Weeks of the empty storefront and the lake,

Ducks and homeless circling, lost.


Now the girls lean out too far from the drive

Up and the bums squirm down the spoiling milk

And my goal, which is to follow the shadow


Up the metaphoric staircase

Where, on a shimmery canvass,

I see a bonsai tree on your teacup, before your lips,

A wren & cracks in the mountain,


Says bonsior to the Blizzard, M&M to the Snickers

Forming at the front of my wardrobe.


Even now I’m losing sight of it, in the prayer hatch.

Sprinkled nuts & fudge. The gooey termination of society.

Wrap your bonbons in that o’ reader. Epithet

Of self abuse. Oh Queen, flapping tyrant, homily


Of men. I’m an underage fool falling down drunk

At your All Ages concert. Chinese guitar riffs.

The ducks are forming an island with their backs

To us. Soon we’ll be the only ones in line.













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