Postcard: Disable Spellcheck
DISABLE SPELLCHECK
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Makes derangéd love To the muddy hill. Shoots of green knocked sideways On a factory floor. Next to the stopflood Retaining wall, sprung rhythm. Just as A center for Islamic banking Furls green writing like a blooming branch across the screen, visible Pop-up ad of the market or green fuse. In a wiry flash, A living goddess with a threefoot eye Bends o'er her spreadflat copybook, contemplating a career at maths. I've always been good at maths, And how they multiply, and how they multiply, and how they Lock in a pop-fly, snag the interface, shatter the salary cap, Thwack. Into the tanned glove, a second piece Of hide. It's spring, tumors and mushroom caps pop-up, the avatar Salary man can't muster himself to grope the Pixilated schoolgirl. Sad subways. Before the Senate panel, the discredited chairman holds You gotta keep on dancing Keep on dancing Keep on dancing til the music stops. Amen, says the peacock, Shifting his attentions now to the wall. He shrugs obscenely green, Obscenely jewel-toned, obscenely neck-like, An obscene grandeur and an obscene decadency, A screen, a mask, a dance, A thousand green-groping eyes. Lapse and bless With your largesse, you antique commode, you gossiping fairground— (And now a common bird launches itself at my window A defunct grenade from Spring's blackmarket shouldermount Because I do not know its name And do not wish to watch it stagger from air to glass I hear it re-enunciate & grow increasingly garbled & go On outside the poem that would be increasingly inside, let me in. Where my sleek unbidden brow breaks blood upon the panel, breaks beads amid the streaks of let me in and let me in)
DISABLE SPELLCHECK
I’m the matron-king of hell In yoga pants and a disused bra for a laurel & shatter the scene inside your simmering year Like a ransom scene filmed through shattered transom I smear in my glamour I make as if to justify the ways of God to man That’s my ticket in That’s why God lets me speak here Crystostoma’d on his couch Even though I’m derived from Hell Hellish Helenish Hellenic I’m the hanged man in this version pegged up in mine pegged jeans by mine ancles, an inversion mine manacles are monocoles I spit out the key and squinny through the keyhole back at the unquittable world In my rainment of gummy sunglasses and crows wings for epaulets I delicately squawk from the edges of things balance unsteadily on the bust of the goddess squawk: Aeschelus Euphorion Aeschelus Euphorion &: I’m going to tell you something so bad that when you hear it you’re gonna know it’s true. Like all the worst stories It comes from the heart & it goes there too. Back here in St. Joseph County a struck duck flies crown first into the asphalt and is stuck there with its brains for adhesive like someone licked the pavement and sealed it a postalette with its cartoon feet in the air and its Jeff Koon wings that’s roadkill for you: realer than real and the cars mill by with their wheels in reverse heavy as chariots in a dealership commercial and I am walking my dog by the river a matron from hell look on me and despise I am like the river: thick as beer and with a sudsy crown there polyethylene bags drape the banks like herons and a plastic jug rides a current with something like the determination that creases mine own brow as I attempt to burn my lunch off the determination of garbage riding for its drain hey-nonny it’s spring and everything wears a crown as it rides its thick doom to its noplace gently brushed by pollen by the wings of hymenoptera like a helicoptera performing its opera all above Indiana bearing the babes away from their births to their berths in the NICU in Indie-un-apple-us Unapple us, moron God, You’ve turned me Deophobic the greasy tracks you leave all over the internet the slicey DNA in the scramblechondria the torn jeans panicked like space invaders in an arcane video game oh spittle-pink blossom the tree don’t need nomore shook down to slick the pavement like a payslip you disused killer app each thought strikes my brain like the spirals in a ham pink pink for easter sliced by something machinic each thought zeros in flies hapless and demented festooned like a lawn dart finds its bit of eye spills its champagne split of pain then we come to our senses suddenly alone in the endzone