Cherries
We wanted it far more finger to nose; low pile
on knee-high seats, haywired. We wanted it shamrock,
erotic wind. Bright city: we’re doing it. Lightning:
come in. We wanted it come to rest on the craps table,
so we would feel so very money storm then.
Better than tens. Whirling lights, then.
We wanted it get down to steer & crustacean,
a triple-cash up to the oompah they were & galleons.
We wanted it so exponential in the gold award castle.
Pluto, oh petunia, can you see we wanted it so extra mega
that we swallowed those lucky & all their ladies, their
trucking & weekend. We were feeler, hoof
& fruit multiplier. We wanted it so sizzling seven,
we fell into a doghouse for king watermelon. For you,
a doghouse, for balloon bars. We did it so diamond deluxe,
we wanted it more pretend, so we did it on Santa’s
jackpot bed & felt so very more big pulsar then--
(published in Interim)
***
While They Laugh, Laugh at Me,
At Me, Fled to the Drear
Crapulent, tele-kinetic ha! & gross over-determinate
& candy root-rot
in the sure sure sure, is the “O,” blown in,
on the “1” that timed out:
Y dotes garish on his fabulous prick!
Petronas & Empire, Sears &
Eiffel,
what orbs afford,the cosmos
can’t stifle &
to light a pastille & X, with her head,
chews a petunia:
abandoned strip mine, out back.
***
Alphabug
We have momentarily
lost our joy. Our very protons
are plotting against us, as we lie on the rug,
talking of letters. I know “C”
as abulia blue, to you,
she’s red -- you keep telling me. We know
of ourselves that which is lesser, though
we spell out the greater. Alphabug,
to thine own appendages
be dictator, be true.
Thine own punctilio, increase.
You never blink.
Shall we meet at the entry of milium & milk?
Shall I come as Mother,
repressed & replete? When they find my boy,
face down, in a pool, I’ll cry ten times
the pool & maybe
ten times
my drink. Oh, Alphabug,
our diseases
are approaching & we
might never bloom. We may never
go forth & plant a psychic kiss
in an irreducible room,
or wear our green cheeks
out. We pray: Oh coathanger, clothespin,
plate -- our outlooks,
our pull cords
are the cruces of these days &
derelicts we are, but more than the sum
of some simple eyes &
prolegs &
then, we say it again. Amen. Amen. Should we find
the perfect pines for our caskets
& mark them, plainly,
with my “O”s & your “X”s, tomorrow,
we’ll lolly,
fictitious & vapors. Today,
we say: no masses, no metastasis.
***
From Dear Dear Advancer
On the first morning god moved a desk in the sky
over the harbor and said let there be your hand
moving over my dress in the smallest park
It was good to be full of oxygen beside the ships
Every surface of everything good to my brain
Will you be a good keeper of my brain lug it
with you over pavements and arterials
in the distant future or next week
Rather than be here I could be a ship’s captain
I could be a Nazi hunter rather than your fresh start
I could be that bee over there and you know nothing
more of me than a faint buzz and you will
not bathe me nor will you write me a check
for anything ever but your giant hand is writing
a check on my cerebrum that dark rooms will honor
And the dark room is an evil dream about a baby
And to be with you I will give up one baby
or a million babies it doesn’t matter it’s either
For you are as ancient as river’s path and you
are the mastodon that bathes in it and I trust you
and I will talk you into being a happy person
You will hear my words in your head and not
know why you’re smiling but I will know
Our ghost child is sitting beside you at day’s
beginning and the sun is stroking her head
And how we loved you on this first day and always
(published in Lo-Ball)