Hello Ghost

On the face the eyes medicated
On film reels, silence, kisses

Stretch out time, the vast seal.
Mention of the police, beating

Finally, each other. The first image
Through telescope, night

And the long black tree. Decades
Of walking through images

Dirty baby clothes, rafters, ants.
Scene.

Hello Scissors

This and that. Hungry I find scissors
For slender wings

Hear murmuring. The arms are everything
Prowling through mud

The knees are wrong, believe me.
My petals are strewn, emulsified

In this impenetrable, and such a combed
Distance,

Pivotal

Boiling iridescence.

Hello Chord

Take the cord, this sack
Of homeless shoes, shiners

Back bones of the snakes I spoke to

Tinkling with light. Some you can
Just barely see, freezing dawn.

Here, this postage rivets
To the one yard line,

This sack is impending, you bet,
This loose seam

Okays in the building’s foundation.

Melvins

Water From The Tunnel

~

Sisson

Iron Over Water

Very Metal

Mr. Murden

Michael Paulus

That Boy Can Swim

Tonight he's given his water wings to a smaller boy
And floats, completely motionless, on his back,
My hand resting beneath the small ridge of his spine.

He's studying the ceiling like I told him to,
Like I did for endless laps. Just like tonight,
The gymnasium lights, the sound of water displaced
By many silent kids, the damp heat against the windows
In December, the chlorine. He's not afraid anymore.

Maybe he'll get his name on the board for best time.
Maybe this prince will grow the gills I never did and
Go beneath the ocean forever, like Namor, the Sub-mariner.

I will show him how to embrace it, to uncurl and move
Through it like space, pure and alone. I will let him go.

The Daily Grind

Brain Slug

Mosquito Teeth

Forty Four: I am leaving through gravel

Which is a voice, a voice of lines.

Forty Five: All the kings of plastic meant

No harm by the Drive-in, only ripples of snow

Forty Six: On the killing fields. Affection

Buys a ticket for the shivering wings.

Forty Seven: The last voice is a vacation,

Wholesale nutrients and evaporation.

Hippopotamus

In the mud, more of us have left B

It in the mud, not mine, you see R

Still thrashing in this version unhealthy A

Teeth, interpretation, recognition, I

Unhealthy. And so I’m tired and going N

Everywhere with legs like faces S

Pressed down by black gloves, L

Ivy skinned, wrinkled. The wet U

Makes snowshoes around my eyes, G

The knees, the windows open O

Like skipping records, bobble headed P

Continuum, one part stereo system, E

One part natural cog, seem-like N

Carrots on the wing. S

Barbed

The muscular god crenellated

his wing dome with a machine

of quotes, of quotes, one

part love, one part overheard speech

without the voice there is no mangling.

Without chalk the marks

are not decided. Oh arrow, oh fence,

pick the chunks of my dreams

from the softness still murmured

in the concertina wire chunks.

Last Minute Television

My arms want to be bubble wrapped
And shipped to a friend
Just for a break, just for
A joke. The ribbed back
Of my La-Z-Boy is labial
In its pulsing, parrots bobbing
Over a seaside sunset.

They say if the red eye of Jupiter
Were on earth, there’d be no Miami.

How could a destination unravel
So easily? So damned credibly?

Look at all the overturned boat hulls
Bobbing in the surf.

So much packaging.

That's No Moon...

A Hundred Hourglass

Is it me or is it just the sand that chafes
With such flattering gratitude?

Someone’s licked the telephone poles
To candy cane with a bloody tongue.

Such focus to carve a crayon into judgment:
Judas, the clan of animal crackers

Playing Godot to the furnace of cheers.

The sand is so grateful because the sea
Redeems every voucher, beach towel
And corpse. If Jesus had a sea side spot
The cranium of his could be tanned
And sporty as well as shined up just
Right for his movie roll. Later in life
I’ll regret I ever made fun of this.

So It Begins

--Erik Hilgerdt

Worship

Satan Says:

















these are the few
rounds blind around the corner.
The heads up tourniquet

saves more lives than gravy

saves more rounds. Satan says
wear a tie to the fast,
meat tie.

Bloomsbury, BOOMsbury

Satan takes the Staten Is. Ferry.
Kicks depressives like pea stones
Into the drink.

Abandon all Popes all ye who inter

Armies march on cocoa bean steam,
Stew up villagers for sustain:

Feedback and sustain
The blood smear your ear exchanges
With the eye

Bionic

Stains and smudge families
Reunite to the laundry basket,
The whole hole of bent and broken
Plastic grips, like a homestead
Of forgetting.

Maybe a loose quail and a certain
Incline of a head before some splatter.
Satan says, buy American.

Pump your arms and swerve
These roads a filled with tikes.

Encefelo Mind

The gap gets bigger, believe me.
Train in, train out.
Each time the movie is new.

Rambo is a cravat eating stinker
Clint gets an eyeful of poverty

Reagan pounds his fist in favor
Of the money shot

The money shot, Satan says,
Is the train running over

Again and again, that
Little starving kid in the “Help

The Poor” commercial.

Satan says, eat the cow. Eat into
The paper bags.































Obfuscycle

temperament snout
squiggle beard
Nerf glands
orange snubs


Thistle breath gnawed
from the self owned toes
to operate on

found dead on the Mt.
Left and buried the snow
for warmth.

Twisto Mephisto

Into a face. A grin left bones
And stones make face out of my landscape.
See? Me one the lamb
A mighty army chugaluga
Little ones and little ones
And highway accidents
And accidental freezings.

Satan bought a Ferrari
With what I paid for it

A hamburger steady
A cheese combustion

Poof up, tie down, take
Step past the rope-a-steer

Join the tournament.

Seig Howdy

Kit Fisto Hopes The Bubba Burger Is To Your Liking

plus this peice of bad news

High On Fire

Toes down to boss line right
Toes bent to sand and light

Dust or money lurking to
History, to maps to calipers

When I was a kid there was a cloud.
When I was older I watched a man
Twist a cigar on a bench on Lincoln.

It was night, there were no clouds
But beach sand lurked everywhere

People walked on bent toes,
People watched, ignoring
The sleeping men in their designer
Filth and body smells.

Blessed Black Wings

Won't Sleep

Dreams Of

Ghost Ships

Fumigator

If the squeeze is made of stars
And the stars are first required
To breech a horizon of pines
And turkey calls, then the swish
Smoke from wet wood will
Knuckle into the living room
Of some far off alien life form

Enriched by the enterprise
Of someone needlepointing
A map of chaos, some bleary
Eyed grandma coerced by
Angels and fumigation chemicals
To rescind her ancient denial
Of the devil and his Cadillac
And make a spread sheet
Out of yarn to march us one
And all back into the fields

Where the guards will set us free.

Necessity

I’m a little to your left
And perhaps about to throw up.

I am aware of the airplane noise
And the grass sweet sighing
For the mower blades. Everyone
Has memories of cutting

There was a midget – is that the
Right nomenclature? – At the barbershop
Who shined shoes. Only I wore
Tennis shoes so had no use for his
Services.

Earlier, I swam in a creek with my
Cousin who might later denounce me
For not being catholic though she
Her self is divorced.

I feel bad for not noticing the break
In the sidewalk which marks
A lightening strike into the lobby
Of the closed down hotel. Boards
Against the broken glass, graffiti
And shoes.

With a fresh haircut I catch myself
In the window of the cleaners, I brush
Some flakes into the dark edges
Feeling sick like I might, without
The preparation of some little man,
Turn into the darkened neon of the
Twenty-four hour Hot Wings.

Nobody Walks These Streets At Night But Me

***

Do Not Attempt To "Gank" My Fries, Mr Kilowatt