Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Canto Carnage

Momma is relaxing in her favorite sledge of granite.
Practicing for the grave is what the papers say.
Memento Mori for the service she wrought.
That, and the shade of expectations, everything else
we put in the doomed arcade. I affirmed
without help or fear of the present

which describes the line of a mitered present
prefab sarcophagus which is the unspoken granite
for an extremely sensitive tooth I affirmed
by wincing, the upper part fixed to what I say
internally, harsh vertical sense of or-else
drying over the bowl which heaving hath wrought,

like a cage that permits us internment, a writhing
music so loud that gnashing is all I can present
to the regulators. The magneto shudders nothing else
as one, the skin slithers over new granite
and two, one eye smothers the other to say
the tempo chews on hinges turning affirmation

until the displaced fragment of memories firm
to globes of meat made fingers wringing
hands and spinning random lip locator to say
they are cut from fascism or other recent presents
like circumcisions on happiness. Map me a granite
chronicle, I believe in the roundness of someone else’s

limit, seem of limit standing. You, who else,
with your wallet out waiting to pay the affirmed
to negate me. Your currant agrees with the granite
tide, with scrambled evolutions, something wrought
coming out of the shadows to spin in the present.
Notice these alfalfa fields and letters that say

the scientists in the back seat of their cars sway
with sweaty rubberized DNA, there is nothing else
these letters of relatives can unearth from the present,
from the barn near the causeway of doom, can affirm
that each section of the year, strumming, wreaks
a coffin from the earth’s pores, her skin in granite.

These letters of the skin say peel me or else
top off the horn wrought twisting and be affirmed
in the granite presentation she trembles with.

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