Innumerable sunrises
love the dandelions
for their obeisance.
Younger than young, we neglected his noses.
Ermine urns are riding hurt.
Bleed be adventure obligate.
Knifing removes burning servitude,
lemonade hand grenades and
sundry chipmunk happenings.
Cactus, man, is the new grapefruit.
Named principals name firms.
I’ll give you special powers, but these are not real.
Simple prenatal wilderness,
a jibe captured yet conveys —
Lower crazy forks from slab
Tremendous armaments:
token candy bars harken
back to January shoeshines –
nearly all infants leave home
too tall. The toll it takes
on shipboards makes days last.
Cream-colored tendons snap, and sinew bakes in the sun;
the deer’s hoof is a dog chew.
First toddlers yodel at steel.
We’re aged ova in our flabby bodybags –
we’re airliner underwear in
tone-deaf tenements. Microcosms of
skinny girls becoming vets and others –
there’s lightness there.
Tell aunt Ruth: cows
come home soon; we’re here.
These lines are the sky
clouded with leaves fleeing
winter’s bitter smell of no-smell.
Water, oozing mud of my truck tires
into squeezing, bleeding places –
the antimony artichokes belie
a cozy hard-armored heart of
blacked cajun lies
on palm fronds.
Detect the dry space of the
morning. I’ve got a toaster
full of cookies. Depress the
toggle switch to arrive at
the fallacy of pathos.
Fall 2009, MH
MonkeyMoonMachine 