excerpts from Paradise No. 2

MARK XIV

are you a vocal opening and noising like
the dual natures look at knives in bags
a sick deal to brutus he took to
but then they don’t talk in process
bury later tones in nudes
the doors all open and no one cheats
that covered the sex with something like a shop
the machine said one message
before it all got crated off to the simplest
she still hasn’t had any or been had by any
in burro factory
so naturally pregnant
if I know more I can solve that attitude
and bring you into the light
but in so doing go sand-blind at the PR
just a headache to maintain and my disbelief
that it’s all a fence of veins that’s so
now it’s hard in there and shooting on your speech so
causing your atoms to do the tighten up also


MARK XXI

and by the cotload do we nightly avoid thee
or so this bite on the arm would have you believe
that’s thou for a pee in a sleepwalked library
by the border of half turned half mast gaze
glorious as halfsmart luck
in ancient foster grants
now nicaragua can finally afford the bobsled
time to get cut from the lotus team
as the suns come untied and dance sin into ‘em
as the flood comes in large groups
before any bless you
I give this advice freely albeit to a dumb bee
to the commoner pastry
here’s hunger and here’s duty
your door to stop as a mirror parcel insured
deafened by small degrees
sinks beneath the weight of all wet ideas
we’re flying now and feeling sick
and a lowering chin


MARK XXVI

at this time we are the best
we can be.

I am going there and taking all this
shit with me.

the announcer announces storms to
the armed services.

I will have sex before I’m through and you
know he will.

in the inside pocket of his vest a snack item is rubbing
a small raw patch.

your message must’ve gone straight to the save
file, he never heard it.

and other half serious situations, like a date
with a snaky bloodsucker.

late night has a new
king.

every time I think of something I was born to
depose I see the sky and chill.

then the doors comes on and I’m royally
pissed again.

trying to order the terribleness, too hard maybe, too
much like volunteer fire-raising.

on xmas in the yard the spelling of everything will be
changed, for the good?

the club barter director locked it
up.

they don’t exist, but they are absolutely
outstanding, those that were visible.

make it one hell-kite and one uphill only
skibob, charge it.

she has folds but it was dark enough to imagine them in
native patterns.

and there’s the national horse-
laugh.

you may say whose baby you think it is but the fact remains
you’re going up.

not so much to be analyzed by such devices, more to remain
a voltage, observer.

had that purging issue, you know, the teen natives
thing, the bombovers.

hide and go to hell and back in and seek
the emergency exit, over and out, Pugh.

how did he get those beast images to stick, to man
a wide distribution beheading?

if it’s a stall it’s a series, if it’s a manger
it’s a director’s cut.

everyone’s a pro and knows a rube around
these distinct corners.

the phone at the desk is ringing incessantly with the pain
of a hundred odd duty slobs.

he just lays there, like a body, screwed by his
uncle the cork head supplier.

you can go through here and get your own
show in minutes.

in this code room we clarify daily
results by circling each other’s doubles.

I think you might
mean hither.

a sympathizer of whathaveyou
called.

they can smell the stuff all the way
next door.

you cannot just frontally assault, first you must gilt
and finally, get demoted.

this accent is the way you become
a star; fluid and a spark.

the minute are always with us, like
reversible answers.

the log line cannot be spoken but I’ll indent
it in your driving pillow.

I’ll striate and you can
view me.

wear a fish with nicotine
teeth for my crown.

as the slant goes so
go the revolutions.

it all quiets down so it must be opera
for the tents.

it doesn’t know where it left
off.

it does that under arm
thing.

they all do it but most especially blind
headcases.

the monkeys that bleed at the ears get thanks
for the correction fluid.

you can tell the honcho by
his stripes.

and that would make all these goers
monkeys like

this standing eight count you’ll be
humming at breakfast.

going shhhhh.

and would you could make the cot in the back beat
for you when the drain is circling again.

so like a god squid dude shot
in a discount target.

the suit or the size
of it?

if we can get through this first year the rest is solid
gold bullshit.

by the loadless
barges.

running with firesticks to the anterior
of the national fret.

a dime store with a stolen cigar
store is no bargain.

they don’t make parts for it
anymore.

unless you can prove
an indian.

where this genius moron called papp
gives his offspring a single digit
and the brave says shoot
straight into that door
of the spirits.
and dynasty barely
grazes in its contrasts with
the revolver where we’re pictured
with us-likes the prodigally un-
coordinated.
you can always count
on me to lie through my final drafts.

who forgot to use too much bleach?
am I really as hard as all that?

he asked these things and still
the real charges against us are
never with us like the rich would have
you taker of all dangerous rides
then folder upper
or come all at once
but for the secret agenda of a bargain
assurance agent but what durable
paint except in the strictest postage
senses is a threat.
where we all get to
begin as strangers fuck it up fast then
taco hour.
my day has just gone crazy.
might be anything at the door stays.
might relegate my drooping condition
to the homoerotic and the indian’s low
lay.
deny.


MARK XXVIII

they got enraged
there they are patting and saying
win and digest and predigest and biodegrade
and don’t forget to churn like a bird
or stain the air like a clockmaker


MARK XXXII

a few of my tips for the natural life:

take up cycling on the grave
of someone you thought you might never get to meet.

draw a picture of a viaduct on rice paper
then make a cake of your dreams.

tick till someone notices.

always spruce up before filing
for an antler removal permit.

use your third spoon first.

monroe deserved some sort of reward for dying
like a champ, but that’s no excuse for you
getting maudlin about the black situation.

if you start out with a strong morel foundation
you have the makings of something born
in the dark and harmlessly fungal.

it pays not to know anything beyond
and/or pursuant to what’s read to you through
the bathroom door.

chew gum in case of copier.

if the chief says it ends in a dance, chances
are he’s seen something moving in the smoke at night.

you mustn’t be so literal with your pompadour nose.

don’t become a conclave of three unless it has to
do with not becoming a riot of two.

the firebug will inherit the thinking
saturated in the best fluid.

stay white in tents and adjusting
constantly in all other tallies.

insert a russet a day, if you float
you’re an iceberg, if not
you’re still a distracting episode.

go kiss al kaline for luck, he’s dumb and full
of the hope of the carousel.

say hello to feelings!

transversely go baldly as an amendment to the dimensions
nature attempted to imprint upon you.

make a mountain out of every thing, observe
your flock ignoring the mountains you’ve labored
to provide, then banish australia from the parentheses.

make yourself a gerund in the eyes of the divine, divine
in the sight of the bare and viable, invisible to the terminated, forfeit
to the squeegee of the beast, tar brushed mesquite virus to paris.

denote on my time, detonate on your own.


MARK XXXVI

this is the man you’re to educate
and his windbreaker advance
he’s a lecher and an ally
to the dulcified and as genteelly a convent
fix-it-guy with tiny periscopes

it’s in the best-selling cook
that we find ourselves reflected most
aromatically and write poems of which
this paper column he said is too narrow to be
quite the farm animal of previous dumpings

his mom made soup and was predisposed
but only to doodle the heads off
replace them with a light toast
donating vast stores of underpants to the outdoors
and surreys to cops

now she is dead and will lie down
soon as the ode is a jam and
clad in old noah habit
the quiet of electronics and smoking overdraft
with the ears affixing to the mudslide as randomly


MARK XXXVII

the cure for long legs
a target litter to keep anchored in
home as a tactical hoofmark
I can semi-move
I can hawk the meta-static
metastasize when the military met sally
there’s a pamphlet on how to tile in a blitz
the nature of making quilts and calling them
comforter the clang of the history of too late fire
trucks
and I take mine still with extra spice and highjack
and it’s all entirely legal when mourning
Stalin’s mama and the sacred blister capped
like that micro-fleet they kept rerunning it
till it became it’s own need for an antidote and it’s own
antidote the candidate as essential oil
a bag of micro rat shit you can absolutely tell
by the pattern of the wounds and freckles of the devil
on the jars in the shrink-wrap in the cases headed deeper west on
trucks
we stopped at a truck stop and that was the moment
she called me shaggy
I had headed for the throne
not my fault the yearbook photoshoot had had to be rescheduled
or that all three sets of parents were jet-skiing in Belfast
a personality is purely an ecology
a complete set merely weight to hold down a custom display case
and a girl who thinks she’s fat and is a stalemate
it was this sort of understanding that made him make himself a series of
trucks
actually of priests then all go waterless
eat his own obscure admittance form each
like this is to be his castle
and these the exclusive members
and the hate with which it was all presented at the fair
the kiddies love the big plastic bees and need the stories
how I got stung and had a reaction
the year it all became the alibi to glue
the year it became a published collection of puns on
turks
erode to whispering about the days’ balance strictly
in the documentary box
for cat or cash or hat
as a kind of cavalcade luxo-rake
as the blew descends upon the simplified bach passage
or whatever peculiar inevitability was piped into that passageway
between the storehouse and the storehouse’s temporary
imprints in landscaping
had they waited for the bagpipes to stop or the cameras to
pan
settle on a spot and watch it till a form fills it
then be reassured by the form’s inadvertence
then confer it a wingspan
the ground a certain credit
too all those who said what they said but were thinking
overdue or exact as construction in a slaughter
itemized for U-2 as a joint
the mangle and polish the subsequent decipherment
by the lungs in hour-top tons
nap


MARK XLI

I evict.
impound your scapes.
lower land and breakdown spoons full.
I take you off the forefoot.

I back you into a swimmer.
broadcast your grades.
proceed to the front of the falter.
I faith.

I get baby-like to orbit.
telepath your am-ex union.
box the old wraith.
I fly you to a bridge plan.

I non-issue on the paper.
launder all your televised guerillas in epoxy.
jar biliousness renewal.
I churn to you, potbelly.

I lay a siege numbed.
debrief in numbness.
blanch at the suggestion.
I lactate, ape-man of the storm, toned, at work.

I paper fossilized.
fountain as pricey, fountained.
gum up.
I smoke, I house votes, I vote till it collaborates, till you co-op.

I get deft when expected to get ferocious.
wag at not knowing the difference.
take stock and hose interrupter.
I castrated the band, they made me an honorary teamster.

I become expressway.
bog as marker by-product.
affix patents to such as unclasp, sharkproofskin, part-time jag plumbing.
I medicate I?

I plush it all by a gonad all reverential albeit omen.
care less than to cultivate a chemical ejaculate.
always envisioning dinner in the magic.
I trim hideously lovely, I reinvent the maiden as a direct synthesizer.

I wear long legs and walk you to a uniform.
lullaby by the fragment.
keep checks from a kinky mom with a bitterer teenager.
I know which side my hindquarters are contracted on!

I bang! on preserved time.
tan in costume with dog complement, devoted tooth, hysteria as investigative landscape.
torture that landscape into guy partitions.
I respect the story.

I go on record as such.
mythologize, bamboozle, flood (I made that ceiling).
rent snatch disco for a private function, defoliate it like a childhood pigboat.
I appear to snap to.

he is a cunning saint who politely reasons with embers.
arbitrates the calcium from a draft.
spells chimera as a seven year old spells supplement to nourish.
he will go the length of the immaculate, worm, abstract, combat, fractured.

he remains unfazed by the roiling dietician timpani.
demarcates ions by ‘razmataz’, ‘remittent’, ‘moneyed’, ‘perception’, ‘gallant’, ‘rim’.
a pressing need to return to the trove of etchers, to the repurposed chalet.
he collects top-grade heritage, lines his seat with marvelous loose inflection.

he connects the bacteria with the reactionary.
rebounds against mutes.
exits before the credits.
he can’t find silly.

he has no foreseeable ending.
but what a finisher!
prefers a salt pianist to cocoon.
he just put a coat on a woman’s superlative.

he used to be a professional hatter.
no conventional lungs makes hush-hush feasible.
stupefying journalism is just one.
he feints, cashes, feigns an orgasm, makes tracks for the fridge.

he can play captiously without teaching his conduct to be essential.
loves a midnight ham and operates his own invisible blood.
is a sucker for a pin curl.
he will have seen the maltese falcon eight times by the time this reaches nagasaki.

he rid himself of all sharpness.
had his head carved into a ship.
might’ve been pope had the shirt been any other shade.
he has the plan to end springtime in a fusible seizure.

he is the hand in the handstamp.
slept through the place instantly passed with no questions asked.
as a rule his general stupor is only a frame and tempting at that.
he fills his own jaw with enough color for a dozen seizures.

he will terminate when good and ready.
thinks a fit as romantic as the curvature of a gull or the light on a cobra at a bullfight.
wants to be known for having no monthlies.
he, unpopulatable, decides to get organized, revokes all future debuts.

he flies a swatter.
ducks the killer quack.
weakens momentarily at the sight of nipples.
he bucks up, gets pickled, expends.

he is preparing to transfer en masse.
carries optimum coverage.
deviates only long enough to pretend to fuck a mechanism then clears that crucial byte.
he gives the polar stripe a new name, point-blank, safely lifeless, kneeling to housekeep.

he circulates.
thickens.
watches the bruise yellow.
he swallows the out-basket hole.

BORN TO VIOLATE!

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

Different Yesterday, Same Smoke (Sonnets)

1


in the apartment down the hall
a baby wailing or maybe laughing
down on Claremont in front of the building
where this side of paradise was born
a winter ambulance wails or maybe
laughs to remind me of commutation
since losing a hundred forty odd pounds
inside a victim tethered to a drip
clawing ether for some authentic scope
or a chop but the bits are priceless evergreen
mother not dying of cancer
father crying into his air rifle
imagined assholes essential to her oeuvre
the miraculous recovery from autism



2


the miraculous recovery from autism
or was it ridiculous hands?
dumb echo in the shadow of the mittens
apoplectic can anyone have said that?
the difference between a crippling birth
and a fortune cookie collection
is the difference between “you” and “you
will scale the Sierra Pintas strapped to the back
of a saddle bound corn borer.” between “I am
the words myth” and a flailing dwarf shrew
missing all three of its better halves
from a village that produces populist stiffs
and the odd suckered passer through
you get taken for a buggy ride, very



3


you get taken for a buggy ride, very
entertaining a walleyed cubist princess
which of you is the swayback?
the goat I saw slamming into a low bar
in a kazoo on the piscataquis
or monobrow dancing with fish
nitro pea beneath her transmitter mattress
it’s weirder the longer you’re dead
in my dream the barricades held
outside it there was writing in a room
actual with actual air
but the hole decomposes the lily
I walked past the Brooklyn library today
you were right it is much too big



4


you were right it is much too big
for you the breadth of a nut free world
Christmas Eve with nothing to revile
no visible end of the line at St. Pat’s
where the attempt to blow my cherry failed
I huddled in the rock smiling
your belfry cracked a bloated confession fell out
borrowed without permission like the title
and I warmed awake from you
a clown strolls past singing “share the coke
and snort” to the tune of silent night
another delirious ex-dependent?
it’s spoils, not spoiled
the freezer bags



5


the freezer bags
what it cannot get on paper
I can no longer contain my latent violence
so I frightened a shit beetle up a stall wall
the products of zero meat
on the bones of a spiny amusement
where we leave the sedan and come back
to its outline entirely in pecking
all of the feeling in the face of it gone
every trace of eyeliner shavings
hoovered the toy dolls sing one about this
a fit the same as a shoe to a blind annoyance
but we have a serious space concern
I’ll have to have ripped you off a horizon

You're Quite Unwelcome

Although the blue whale has been protected
for over 30 years and its numbers

are greater than the sum total
of peri-menopausal episodes

you have almost certainly written one
if your sentence contains more than three

references to your relationship history
or direct invitations for drinks to a mammal.

I can hear some of you gnashing
your teeth right now, while you think

the thing that must not be thought about
how chips have been implanted in

the real subject of your sentence.

"a pig has a dream." becomes "the pig has
seizures." and according to the veterinarian
"the pig can play the accordion" becomes
"any pig in a band uniform has a dream
of fleecing a roomful of like minded readers
and their leader dogs."

the base sentence of the revised version is now
"the dog has fleas,"
and
"according to the veterinarian"
has been pushed into a descriptive

pair of ill fitting iron lungs from the watermelon store.

true, one should be aware that many such sentences
would be improved by becoming

a chapbook of alliterative limericks on the spidey sense
of a scenery swallowing skin suit, although

“over” has been used in the sense
of “more than” for over a thousand years.

for the first nine hundred and sixty
there was a sense of the possible, but it needs

you to have been spat out by you, made
of the very stuff of your body

and scented like a coconut diaper
just removed from your imaginary calf.

the real subject of your sentence

wants its money back.

the base sentence of the revised version is now
“the dog has fleas,”
and
“according to the veterinarian”
has been pushed into a descriptive

ointment labeled “inconsiderate” and wrapped
in wounded salt and yet

it depends on whether you consider love
and support to be two different and differently given items

or own a home distillery and practice acupuncture on cats.

I am using this example to help raise
your understanding of conscious living

as subscribed to by those convicts who eschew
the mixed marital arts approach to serially raping
a horse with a rope of thorns. but taking bizarro history
into account you may prefer the self flagellation
of a trip to the far end of the Austin Spectrum.

If so, perhaps your restricted license has been
taken away, or perhaps a warrant

can be issued to deflect the attention greenpeace
would otherwise be paying to your impact on noise recovery.
it's an undersea mall full of room temperature pretzels and you
are here. check your target culottes for tips on

how to use has-been in a sentence.

Impediment of the Keys

I only would’ve needed about ten dollars a day (for me)
trying to buttress that (power)
smiling and laughing
as the walking thirties movie
if I can get them to roar he’ll go to war (with me)
negotiations and an agreement
suddenly that division has emptied out (a bit)
ducking, slipping
trying to keep him in jail
you can’t walk off the island
you have to hit your way off (the island)
he’s using that fuel right now
volume versus power, volume is winning
there are no dimes or nickels or instructions
he’s a duracell (battery)
an african version of charles dickens
like a baited bull
but the bull has impressed me
we’ve seen that philosophical (divide before)
of course there is psychology in it
and that’s easier
the answer is he just doesn’t want to sit
(if power doesn’t land it ain’t power)
only live, and you don’t know how (it’s going to end)
then everybody’s eyes lit up
eventually a storm of gnats
will wear you down
like a gumby
(looking for new friends)

No Movie Tonight

Scene:

Nuts encased in sateen.
Track up to a chin of pure blank squares.
A Sunoco attendant freebasing in jammies.
Exit character through a convulsing exercise
machine.

(All people love movies with no significance
or any letters written onscreen. Or any letters
for that matter. It’s like lost art. Expensive shades
missing a screw.)

Scene:

Tea with exotic herbs said to possess
impossible aphrodisiacal properties poured
for the envoy from Sunoco. His beauty has been
touted by mobs of queens. A vehicle is perceived
approaching.

(Images featuring a yellow van create tension
in female audiences. Just as the words “I can’t
indicate” distress men. Cause, effect and common
good are not regarded as essential to the fix.)

Scene:

Extreme close up of genitals and nail gun.
Curtains flutter behind the indistinct pair.
A sandwich, roast beef au jus, in the foreground
attracts fruit flies. Off screen an intervention
is taking place.

(Canned goods instantly evoke a sense of sympathy.
“I comprehend your predicament” they imply.
“The dire consequences to your penis are quite
identifiable. I feel that I know you.” Essays follow.)

Scene:

A needle pierces skin. We pull out to reveal
a familiar perineum that appears to be growing
fins. Another jab, then another. The entire
penis swells and assumes the shape of
the Suez Canal. Anthemic music up.

(See notes.)

Looser and Clocked

Jettisoned with the sweets.
It’s less gross he said than watching her
eat with her utility mouth in.

A termite meticulously read
the latest account of the last
tiff. Jesus suckered his men.

And so either of two great griefs
has sent you back to wine country.
Jamming artificial intelligence

lets the air issue silently
from your self backstabbing
blow up companion.

In a cheap wooden box lie
the émotives and none of them
définies. Jokes like shouting Bonzai

in a crowded skirt. Destiny came in
bags. Bound with luck for Rapa Nui.
Your stone passport no longer counts.

Later Jesus called nine one two. Pairs of
spelunkers bounce across the vulval
steam drains. The operator uncut him.

One opportunity in a million found
its audience. Demons portraying the banana
peel in the mode of the dance.

But a man has no s. Many vie for the infections
proffered by the expressionless elk. Jerry visits
a vector near his lost plot of stardom.

A ladder douses errant flowers with the contents
of a pity burning lamp. The overall setting may be
laughable but he doubts the carpenters union

got the memo.
April 30, 1945.
Stuck in the sweat tree again.

The Irish Survives Itself (The Sleep of the Just II)

Now that our store teeth are in high def we feel rightfully
invincible. Backmasking your vanity childhood we got lost
in that day you wasted playing chicken on the wrong side

of the tracks. Soon, though, your heroin arm underbed
willies were collated. To be transported in separate safety
cranks across a blind scrim prairie to deep complexes

under non-existent mountains. Comic anti-semitic resorts

where we have coffee and grin swearing. Our daily streaks
come off hourly. That prairie is half an Earth’s worth gaining.
The steps you’d extemporized were swept for any secret

and/or recyclable bugs. Even this early we knew you
to be a potential preemptive idol. Years were spent
underground eating off your carbon and well buttering

a crackpot aggregation of pox blankets,

bread buckets to martyr your doll collection to the Daddy
Max. Wild Hill, ring a bell? Hillock? Do you remember
being made to sit lungless through fifteen straight years

in end to end screenings of Dances With the Hoops?
A free and equitable association of cut cards played just
above the Frontiersman trained on your empathically minute

carbine and damp wadding? There is no one to confirm
in your favorite shoes. No reason we should wonder who
you might say you think that is in the borrowed radium

suits. No one sees creamed corn anywhere, moron!

Striking the familiar death mask poses of the friendly
pathogen society. (A course you can fail to take from home)
Or of the vanquished without poison or television privileges.

Who can you trust to translate an unsafe lunch from the Pig
Mandarin back into cellular code we are incapable of
being freaked out by in any smoking veil of an accuracy?

Those sentries are inhalating again. More procedural naked
Twister to the tune of a nascent acne, glass canisters chock-
a-block in hospital colored chicken. Scratch-n-seize packets

of the gizmo juice. It’s almost too big! read her menu of elevator
disasters. Or an exquisitely freeze-framed chronicle of same
sex drift as ancient undocumented heartbreak. That cheese

isn’t even real Amerikan Krab. So Ambassador Lo-Fat fainted
and was saved by his Ray-Ban attitude. The gag is in the serum.
He conducts your up arrow to last season’s child face

down in her Kefauver apple pie. The fulcrum of time outs.
Time to get pleasantly irrelevant. Individually wrapped
in a time-share seminar on pivotal razor replacements.

And you go to the surgery in your hungry pj’s.

A collapsing knee has your name in diamonelles on it.
But the temporary sky concealed a Galuth choking fast
lanes in destructo tumors. Amiable as special equipment fuck

ups complete with missing warranty, serio-cum stained glassine.
The mob invokes the musical cosmos rule, natch. Ballroom
executions by Jerry Lewis-Stalin and a tubercular baby

giraffe ensue. They make a dark woman with an animal breast
feeding contain the cleansing fire. A collar symbol survivor?
No more so than a kingdom eulogized in the random

or a generation of vanishing plates. The recommended chemical
peel that erases this interminable waiting is just outside
the waiting room door watching Oprah with the sound off.

There is no breath in the system.

Dear Diary: No one killed for the art of justice
in days. But there is a school from the dark windows
of which you are watched waiting for a bus each morning.

Nature she said is a dance of the watcher and the burning bus
its passenger freezing at the stop. Then she came hard and left
without opening her eyes. The late president of continuity.

Famous first words she said, like muy bueno or cig me.

Just as the throats of the universe carpool and sing that train song.
We all join in. I see your boy gave himself a posthumous Oscar
for his last known orgasm. All speech exceeds the time limit.

A musician will be born if you don’t do something quick.

These are the dangers you embrace when you become
a thanker of ideas. By the very bakelite deities who conferred
the honor acting together was produced a never-before-seen

episode of Baretta. Was that my louder than eye torture
voice? he fretted. Was the noise that was heard felt
to be of a suitable harshness to distract the dying

light from settling in all cozy among the non-anti-smokers?
None of his failings had practiced enough. Yet her glibness
had very little to do with her tongue technique. She had

already captured his attention when she burned
his debit card in protest of the global war of nutrition
she thought he was thinking of starting.

A swell gathering at the gates.

The children at least had had some help from the fact
that they wielded butterfly knives. The children
had not considered the fact a fact. If you butter a piece

of bread before it’s been baked you’re traveling in a cat
carrier of some other party’s decoration. If you think
about butter it is vanquished and we need more west.

The process reinvents the process server.
The vest repopularizes vastness in a cotton.
The west wins itself over.

And the weeds that may, will.

Titular Head of the Bread Basket

the otter cannot see the other otter approaching under the ice

at night or the eel

against the eel colored blind spot on the spine of the culvert

destined in a fable

to reappear as a non-threatening penguin with airs of entitlement

and bleeding knee

an oink meant as a presentiment to the commission of the criminal

act of guffawing

at the visible boiling point in his education, buffed out by a gear in

a murder addition sign

and too well shaved for an emissary of the razors hailing on D.C.

take five shaved men

on a bandstand playing celebration to the chief, flying stormbound

against the comic rage

of Sarah McLaughriot in a perfectly white awning, winter pigeon

mannequins blown out

from their winter coats, twanged at by ice mosquitoes in toques



"There and then you'll be able to trial run your elephant fart routine

see if to do the unrated cut is acceptable

or you might get your share of ornaments removed from your senate seat

by swift downward pressure on the truth

the price an elected official can expect to pay off this national daisy chain.”



"Come, come, my fire engine, my end of the Chinese drill, no raccoons now.

What was the devil?

You wouldn't have sat in the real devil’s lap at the mall on end of sale days.”



"I had no eels with which to ram back your otter attack.” Tebald Greengill

Alcoa researcher had occasion to remark

”You are the only proof of your serpent charming license.”

See what your having friends has done?

“No donuts but you applied for a proving ground permit. By their thirst methods."

He was as thirsty as the day he was meant to have been born.



To be a paisley sacrifice, sister this and love thy that, all atheist biblical prating

and a tobacco pony reined to it.

The holders of the PO Box keys wherein the bombs were maintained at room temp

had made three milkshakes before noon of the day.

the mitigating circumstances drank too much sake in the sushi bar the night before

offending the none too goat friendly Panda keeper.

Would a pen full of lonely Panda and otter suspend convention?

You might if you had seen her.

The sight of her azure eyeshadow now brought it all back to him -

how he had coveted her catalog duds

and treasured the time she let him stroke her automatic elephant blunderbuss



whenever in the pen he thinks of his maximum penalty

he becomes sentimental

that shining moment he took the stage to present her to her party

and found the public attentive to her gun rack

regards it still as a present from the powers that fly in first that he himself was given

this singular honor, after he’d found the otters

had had another engagement and canceled with only a couple hours notice

She was wearing a dated dress he removed

with the crowd’s eyes as he entered her ahead of them.



"If," said Mr. De Volyooshun to a Gnome, "the deed to this hammered lid

was in fact the infamous overlook

it was only infamous in the sense that what is famous is fleeting

and what fleets fleets from a half steeped brain.

Its infamy is not in the Dillinger concealed in the wonder bra

but in how that fellow Marceau

was hardly a hymen.” The music of the death of pain got through.

And she looked surprisingly like an otter

in foam rubber runner up suit. An Oversight judges everywhere

will one day pay for.

The Sleep of the Just (Barely)

Now all the martyrs have been vanquished
who can we trust to translate a safe lunch
from the Mandarin? Is it a crazy ass chicken
scratch menu? Or an exquisite chronicle
of an ancient heartbreak? Is that even real
Amerikan Chinese? Where are all the funny
fuck ups that make the fire containable?

No one killed for justice in days. And yet
there is a school, the blackout windows
watch you waiting for a bus each morning.
Nature’s wondrous dance of watcher and bus
passenger freezing at the stop. The lateness
of conveyance again, value added continuity.
Muy Bueno. The lunge of the universe sings.

He gave himself an Oscar for his penultimate
orgasm but his speech exceeded the time limit.
The looming danger of too many essential people
to thank. Befriended by the very friendly deities
all acting together like a battery life. O, black
and uncharted errata, how convenient that you
can’t get anywhere from here.

The lurch forward of the stopping threw
the bodies back like a motorcade headshot.
Loud was the noise that was heard and aimed
the gazes of observers focusing on a pigeon
fight visible beyond the light-up destination
sign. These were among the inconsistencies
that made it a good day, but not in court.

Through the cyclone he lost none of his fat,
having studied the resiliency of the shithead.
He practiced imitating contracting stars, without
the concomitant fairytale emissions. Nothing of her
influence survived his scoliosis of the funnies.
That once self-described glib tongue already grafted
to a bone in the blistering end of the garden.


So how, again, was a martyr constructed?
It had to be according to some Chinese puzzle
where you line up the borrowed warheads. Not
without some help from the Self Inflicted Auto Dealers
Group. They use their children to annihilate your soul.
So says the broken cross to the shattered crucible
of Milwaukee’s Best, ignoring the irony.

Close your eyes. Visualize yourself on a beach
attempting to achieve an erection with the help
of only a single oyster cracker. You do not
feel salt in the breeze. You have no sense
but can say the words, “Remote” and “Safety”
into an empty chamber. You need more booyah
from your lack of prowess.

Let the inconsequence, of which that vast expanse
before your stitched lids is largely a familiar mower
path, bathe you gently in scalding tomato soup.
A bus-like military vehicle runs over you hourly.
Try to count backwards from one.
Pretend that a beautiful woman
can see you breathing.