hissing vessel desperate to be poured, poor little veins,
lava streams engulfing inland valleys, brown blood
flecks, a peaking shrine to blackmail hex on kin, old
straws, busted copper rods to suck, sacrosanct instead
of laundered preempt, sickos willed by the smack of a
papal legate, loyal gene, radical selfcombing, snarled
hair, narrates the rotary gestures, theremin with
vacuum tubes, heterodynes, Fête des Belles Eaux for
six ondes, to crave badly is to take hard the blood-tusk
Licentiam: 9.8
Quercus alba
mott-gathered, hard
as hunger
rock-shelled, soaked soft
cracked
open with a maul
three days
in a basket, steeped
by the whiskey river
destitute lobes,
handful
in the pot, mouthful
in the cup
one on the sill
against the storm
Ageratina altissima
the milk, and the bone –
sickness and break fever
women in their crinoline
cages
round-toothed, scalloped
feet planted so close
together
birthing herb,
snakeroot, richweed, sanicle
ruptured shade the febrile wood
white island
in a sea of heat
terete-wrap your breeze around
my aching legs
and tongue
All That Good Stuff
take the prose of a poem the teeth of a grin
lost weekend of a savior heyday of a has-been
golf shoes of a president a jew’s christmas cheer
a punchline in german the court eunuch’s leer
warren beatty’s crow’s feet johnny depp’s address book
the mouth of a mime the vow of a crook
take a scrivener’s eyes a blackmailer’s file
straightedge of a schoolmarm a judge’s denial
the twitch of a surgeon a divorcée’s glow
repose of a greyhound a yes man’s hell no
the staple from a centerfold bouquet of a bride
stand in line for a seat bite down hard, open wide
take an open house tour through a boychild’s wet dream
hey diddle diddle don’t make a scene
take the prose of a poem and a guilt-wracked scapegoat
hey nonny nonny death row clears its throat
Guitar by Chuck Prophet
It’s Hard to Get Ahead
Brainwashed the dishes. Now, I’m looking for money in large amounts and small denominations. Jesus says I’m a very legible person, but Raven says I don’t have enough string to fly a kite. OK, so maybe I am still working out the kinks. This week they called off the weekend, so I’ll just work right on through, at least until those Japanese Martians land. I’ll wear water skis if I have to. I’ve heard hollow chocolate Easter bunnies really can work up an appetite. After all, you are what you eat. Of course, you can’t trust everything they teach you in hairdressing school. To make up the deficit, I practiced my danceable moves in broad daylight. Before I knew what was happening, the cops asked me to leave. That nearly killed me. I love this country like the back of my hand. Can’t count the number of times I’ve tried to set it on fire.
The Main Reason I Didn’t Leave a Forwarding Address
Since I got an ‘A’ on my Turing test, it doesn’t bother me that I can’t hear my hair growing at night. Of course, I enjoyed the helicopter ride and the dog sledding, but the problem with my dead relatives is that they are still alive. There’s something je ne sais quoi about their persistent yodeling, but, like a phantom limb, I can’t quite put my finger on it. My physician says as soon as I get better, it’ll be OK to pawn my invisibility cloak. He says I shouldn’t be bashful; everyone has a body beneath their clothes. I wanted to ask him, What use is a fire escape without a fire? but, I can tell you, naked or nude, he’s not the kind of person who likes to take turns missing the boat. Of course, like Pa always said, it’s not polite to scratch your itchy trigger finger in public. Don’t bother coming back till you’re dead.
Fleece
The turtles are mudded down,
The air dank with leaf rot.
The new house that faces the bluff
Is all timber, everything
Bare-limbed this November.
I have three layers on.
The trees are one.
Rothko Before the Color Fields
Lord God of Monochrome Beauty,
forgive semi-abstraction.
Who cares for a single ear
rotting among ripe fruits?
Slow the art and speed
the lie, sliding
your foot closely,
close enough,
see a mosquito eat
at that plum. Blood meals
nourish diseased beasts.
Trompe l’oeil:
Spend long enough
with black canvas
in a chapel
by a dead man,
it purples, reddens.
coronamatic
something says
keep the curmudgeon:
bat with teeth, brainy
guy, heel, nun’s ass –
keep this furniture.
the lame attempt at
pecking at logs.
Donut Man
The man outside 7-11
sells hot fresh chromosomes
for 10 cents. X
chromosomes only.
Men eat them, wanting
to become women.
Women eat
them because
they taste like America.