AS SKULLS TEAR BY
Another heavy
metal morning
A worm one
enters the abscess
of the city in
(or the excess)
as skulls tear by
I can’t breathe
as little as
I’d like
but love
your black cable
wire window bouquet
and love this bloody
nose anti-war paint
punctuating the streets
to go silver
and revise
another heavy
metal morning taut
in the fetid
gaze merger of trees
LOOKING SEXY FOR PEACE
for Erica Svec
These paper roses
seep black
from the swollen elbow
of her ceiling as John
smirks through
curly detergent
stillness, dear friends
forever crowding
out lack only
to fill it with a new
and indefatigable lightness
looking dangerous
or sexy for peace
as quaint Buds sprout
in the plastic black
where our hands meet
or suffering nightlife
we charge victorious
into the blue char
of summer, subnormally
wrecked with petals
sleeping over
SNAPSHOT AUTOBIOGRAPHY
First
nowhere,
now
here.
SIXING
Squint
Sequin
Secant
Second
Beckon
Bedeck
Bedlam
Meddle
Middle
Milder
Wilted
Walden
GRASSROOTS
Assholes continue to amass
Poking a dim axis
Of symptoms into happy hour
But it is I who
Judge, dear Friedrich
Winnowing grace
While the jukebox cycles
To submerge chatter
With its middling solemnity
Let me speak plainly: fuck
Less from shame, dear
Asshole mash, you menace well
Short of honor and no
I won’t speak
As plain as I should
Know better, the ceiling
Gorgeous with tin, the organic
Strawberries staining
The TV personality sipping gin past
Ethics, a new hole
In the heart I use for purchase
Curious about wealth
In a violent way
Unsettling each scotoma
The magazines wince
Into commute
But for now going nowhere
As the city chains
Further so
As to foster its uninter-
Ruptedness into our bustling
Cache of asym-
Metrical longing, gross
Billows rising
From the mouth’s open
Awe where we lope
Like a never before
Played song played by brilliant if
Untrustable musicians
Staring absent or
Restringing their hapless
Instruments into line
The jukebox breaking
Into Pixies, the bar
Cat sniffing at one scuffed
Shoe after another, rubbing
Up against nothing and for fuck’s
Sake it’s already half-past
Eight, we should
Be at church, Elaine Equi
Is telling our fortunes
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