Saturday, January 8, 2011


the parade is impressively vitriolic this year
even the pathetic mini-god statuary looks cheery
in its black mark book on the bookcase in the robot
a photo around a frame of delinquents
the picky foursome they liked walking off a high
Ona Massey in that one about Halloween dogs
what is he up there changing about?
like a Doolittle sucking the consonantal reed
lots of our regular company needs to be kept theory
the spin of the empty is there to gall us
I can’t catch my breath it’s too high too wide
Sherry Lansing exalts herself but not the capitol
Michigan is itself a queen chigger in the dugout
leave all nonessentials at the gates of Erie on the refusal side
a baby’s well done clog or Lord Alfred Tenpins and the money
follow the locus to the text repository amplitude
at the Kilpatrick Prolapse Bar & Grille
Freddie Bartholomew lost his growing pains got purged
by the custodians of the Titans’ locker room
up in the sky the spurts of the apostle PortaJohn
Goulet could’ve butchered it more convincingly
who that age still wears his doublets tucked?
these are the crack-me-up vicissitudes of the Bose crowd
flotillas on the reefs of the Liverwurst all the way to Brightening
the reunion tour of Apathy Idiom and Last Call
we can make this as radio controlled as your pants
religion conducted in a blown out quarry
I am Cicero hear me creak on the ectoblastic pick
they once lined up all the highfalutin and threw an orangutan
at their art’s expiration date
all the Bonneville’s gone flat
ABBA punched in the gentleman’s kidney
that was straight up Daniel in the burying of the milks
back when they wore tweed to immerse themselves in fumes
the golden age of the homestead fire
who doesn’t love a good rip-off on a brainy asshole’s watch?
from Cambridge to the swelter holes of Rhodesia
you can dance into the crosshairs of Ron’s silver bullet roots
or counterpoint one ascendant bitrate with an assault that results in chaos birth
that’s how the earthmen got okay with downpours
and the layoffs of an afternoon by Revell
this is Aphasia your personal Ursa Majorette
it’s a world of inappropriate apparel colliding at the terminus
only the squalid need apply for relief and discontinuation
on the other hand there’s always the chance of something disastrous
like a new aristocracy of dry puns
or the last of a species pinned under your wheel
at least when you navigate blind you can feel bleak about things
oh shit! a link just made itself!
now the Rushmore clothesline is uprooted
and this entire syllogism coated in syrupy buckshot
the thorn in the dodo that opened up Catholicism
that same custodian is starting his own borough
a return to Elizabethan elbow torture for yuks
mind your headshot instead of the play
did someone shout “Arbuckle Champagne for the house!”?
over behind that dick shaped rock you’ll find the clout they’re missing
this be man and this be man’s Novocain release
I think he meant Clytemnestra not librarian with silent gears
if good will is all in the onlooking and not the donated acreage
it didn't do the willows any good to buy that insert space
jerk yourself some dome
thus did the quarrel end in skunks
and the culling of expired patents
Eden is now a bra
tempestuous as Corbett’s fib mode
when the bands march to a galaxy on the borderline
we’ll recruit more robots to taste
we can afford lobster by the weights
and there were no Wrights worth remembering
argot everyone was ill in the cretaceous
we wish the balls back into the sockets
like Sam Houston on the pigpen stump
broke as pushpins