Derelict Ship: Arrival

The Birth Canal

Some Kind of Blue Mist 2

So Many Eggs

Meanwhile

IG-88

IG-88

IG-88

Mercury Fins

In a hard nosed streak across the sun
all doppelgangers present themselves
for goggle review. Achtung!

It’s yellow leaf greed I feel in the noon.
Wind of scarf around the noose lodge
in my heart, my aquarium.

This sweetness is offensive as a spotless
pickup truck. Even tweaks on the finish
like stickers for warmindedness
make the sun shudder, elect the legless

sinner, bring out a torch to brighten
the wronged up noon. Come cold, come
merciless planetoid across my view,
your fins are up almighty. Dress down.

Harness the Insect-eye

Such outcries against the oaken

Such mantle work unaccounted

Such contusion work unspoiled
Such a hammer draping

Such nighttime a-clinking

Such heavy hands fire-gesture

Such proto-fascist roundhouses
Such a boot to the spinning

Such groundwork treaded

Such head pain enjoyed

Such energy boxed up for destruction
Such sales at a later date

Such gruesome office work

Such happy turnbuckles unscrewed
Such padded connections

Such insect eyes of love

Such a harness to the flopping



:::::::::

Savannah Geometrics

Giraffinous and reedy, in every waterway
and bank account some things forget

to clink, to celebrate their way out, drawn up
hallowed flyovers, icy gloss-overs

zebratic tinkle and late-era large tumblers
in red cars preening cellular to the dance

shops: linking this urine sample to every other
piece of African corporate art you are

tortured by. These Kilimanjaros crease
your memory to opacity, stretching the covers

like blow pipes into legs over the red chairs
in a dream, a dream of exile’s cabins

antlers from grocery store planted to your
forehead. The view from the porch elongated

Overt Stretching

Like quality assurance I’m elongated
for sheer edginess, along the guard shack

typo elegance and streamlined coiffure:
you do not earn the stitches

your degrees compound to serrated
coolness, perforate here and be one

of us, one of us! The shanks of gold
and timorously lop the fucker off.

You’ll cramp up otherwise, note the General
in later elections how the stumps

arise profound, bejeweled wrestler
with logos pierced through your skirt:

confused support for other candidates
makes spaghettis veins for us all.

I Submit: The Charger Aloft.

Consider the visceral transcendence.

The Road To Recovery

Muncheon

::::::

Everything is a dealing of fingers
and the on off switch wrinkles its nose
at your living, a smell of wind
Through an open window so up there
a mangle of drapes no one notices

all the effort. Look now how old
your silence is. And the pranksters
place a plaster hand over your grave
as if to assume you might come back
to the corporeal if only there were an accounting

for the scuff of footstep, that which makes
me jump because I hear it through
the window, so far up it is impossible.
Not feet then, but a growth like fingers.





:::::

Dude

:::






































































::::

:::






































::::

Gnash Point Two

Obscene you still insist on two together:
Dance-Dance mastication.

Offensive in the right, of way, of mode
Of dalliance, of temperament at wire:

Consider the zombie with mouth wired shut
Consider the straw then, the hurried along.

Consider the zombie of Tom Joad, resurrected
To injustices everywhere

And feasting on my continued miseries.
Consider the wave, ala sports enthusiasm,

All hailing a cab, or reaching to the beyond
For a pair of calipers or some other toothed

Instrument to gnaw zones through, seize
Every tiny inconsistency and gnash-gnash.

Gnash

Yet this grotesque
Trombonist clings to good weather
Bouquets like a frog
To the back of the last
Ever so last passing car

Down the home stretch

Recede be-mirrored
Incumbent

To the heaps. The
Fresh tooth

On it, every tweeze

Sign of the Teeth

Often cranial clouds inspire the changes
Which delight the teeth, those orphans
To paradise. Switch back the canal of thinking
Juice, this retaining wall begets that
Crevice of offal, two bleak trains squelching
Their cargo of canned meat into tripled
Vents of steam and vitriol. Thinking trips
Two beams of the laser detector, her gnarled
Watchdog, and in go the cans, also perilous
Other thoughts which clog or are themselves
Arteries of bad vision. Also, the circular saw
And its bandwagon of giving bone, the puss
Gives up to grinding what intentions boil,
Some dust come up from clicking connectors.