I wish the world was made of candy
and all the princesses in the castle
were getting ready to get married
I remember a blue Ford Pinto,
a pixilated screen door,
and maple branches swaying in the breeze
there were dust Teds
bison fairy purse
the beast Edith
there was a butt snack
with a sausage on its head
there was a Duncan making rugs,
de Koonings of ghee,
congeries of events,
and I don’t like my hair
The issue of Sarah drinking from
the toilet was an interesting one,
a sparrow mottle
a leaf pizza for the worms
into the eve of
the relatively long arms
of Uncle Mike’s
Norway maples crinkling-brown
the heaventree of stars, promises of horseradish, humid nightblue fruit,
waxing homo erectus putting the boo back in booze, “to the loo” for “toodaloo”,
into the eve of a picnic of trees
of an autumnal yard of swiss chard,
into a still life with ceiling and asshole:
the dark of
topsy two feet
pork and nightshades
into the eve of
a commodius vicar that silence impending
bravo alpha kilo
***
Two people who love each other have dry skin,
the small sneakers next to the big sneakers
that make a household
***
waxing crescent moon, frost at midnight,
and my King—
he thought about guppies
all the time
the moon over Schenectady,
the cold soft moon,
the cold full moon,
a golden basin filled with scorpions
***
What pleasure does
Antarctica give us?
an intruder in
a cubby hole
in a dream
rain, slush, palpitations, agenbite of inwit,
four bald eagles
are a chemistry of stars,
are a key to spoonbills, ibises, and storks,
an old moon, the froggreen moon
currs, and this
green, furred world
***
amateurish Chinese opera —
another winter storm
birth and death
snow and snow
in the night in the dark in the solstice
vernichtungsbang
fear of extinction
poor Franz Schubert’s molten pewter surf
***
And Abel butchered
for “let me know” a “let men know” a waning moon smoldering day rage
for white swans on the Hudson
moon in Virgo, then a rut
Two girls, Bea and Daphne were at yoga.
It was night time. Everyone was asleep in Fred’s house,
they were so afraid
they holded on tight to Fred
the 1918 rice riots, occasionally a roach,
Then who should come in but Major Dalmation 2418?
SHEEP MORBET SOLVET
actually Martello tower was a hotel
was a busy weekend Sonia,
was a totalizing mythology that Dali glares at dulse
the air awake!
through Mr. Morales’ balls,
catkins of birch in the Jacuzzi dogwoods in bloom
against the deception which
we are practicing
on these bees,
Did Kirsten’s gambling
cause Dale to
become unfaithful?
meditations on death
interrupted by the
empty shampoo bottle
aches slowly returning,
'autism' for 'autumn', 'September' for 'department' for John the Baptist’s Bagel Maven Café
heaps of Bruce
in the Wiscoy,
“riot veer” and “root beer”
shit, teeth, eyeballs,
the tiny Kandorians,
the voices of the dead,
saved in voice mail,
the Chilean neighbor’s small dog’s large and unusual heart.