america: wet pony: bless us more

astral nuts

on the occasion of the birthday of gary sullivan

and these incredible women who came
to our office thinking they would pose in
a rip in the seven circus-sized camel
tents of the space-time continuum
in the green muscle machine getting back
Astral clones, Nuts at Target, just a touch
of toastiness. I will elaborate
on nuts: In that realm, there appears to be
no sound: hazy, we watch, and scratch, and wait,
becoming quarks and gluons and stuff,
grotesque reproductions of Astral Cigars,
and there are nuts in the astral because

Maybe I'm astral? My last thought was: Oh!
The unfinished interior of the nuts.

tell them

it's for you

During class someone’s cell phone keeps going off on vibrate. Meuh, meuh, it keeps going, a little lost cow.

decay

postcard

But the boy now. He wanted to get back to that dream white place with the snow mountains filling the sky and the little white crocuses dotting the earth like a million innocent stars in the foreground swimming while he sat playing like a toddler in the grass, innocence, innocence, knocking in the snow green grass of the foothills and the forsythia also just about to show its early early spring in yellow cold and he was nodding, nodding, like a flower too heavy with sun on a high hillside with the white rushing in all around and filling every pore with warmth, filling filling and emptying emptying at the same time, and love, love, love, who needed love now, the abdomen filling with sexual warmth now and he was calm and ecstatic and perfect and innocent and nothing mattered, he could still see that something vague and shadowy in the distance that always haunted him, but that something he could never completely remember from his early childhood, it was far away now, was on the other side of glass or perhaps it was a membrane or maybe plexiglass, nothing could hurt him now that he was heavy and sleepy with the white flowers, warm and heavy heads of flowers in the white sun, peaceful, floating on water and feeling the light altitude of the mountain at the same time, while on the other side of the membrane, partly obscured, as if behind underwater plants and kelp, there were shadows floating through, older boys who put a rag over his face, and then the world went all cartoon, it was all just a cartoon, bright moving colors, and then he was no longer conscious, so now, although he could see something happening to the boy it was distant and blurry and vague on the other side of the membrane, shadowy and sinister, but he was so far away and still now in the sun-heavy flowers, nodding, peaceful, innocent, perfect, content.

when was the last time you picked a guava?

pectin & kiosk

close to falling from

the tree in our backyard then

a long time as cut flowers

pulverized and bruised

the world looked fresh then

you can pick any flavor

a yummy scoops cake

plastic frames to try

the corn we planted last time

I decided to drive in from the back way

I saw blood pouring from his waist

reminded of the last time that we had

played together can’t remember the last time

I had restaurant food delivered at home

it was the last one on the shelf

freshly homemade by a nice Japanese couple:

When was the last time you said

I love you, and meant it?

Two days ago in a pool

full of guava seeds

decay

windless ship upon the sea

wisconsin avenue

do you call customer service a little too often

against all the vending machines

keep that lipstick moving

or sprinting letters its

my type of surface

a rig hauling water

morning music on

the first truck chassis

wisconsin at macomb

the sock in the neighborhood

is there dirt in the mouth

like a dusty fish

full of dusty things

lonely

like some grand

yet smelly

thing

two batteries, part 2

the hip of the dog-rose.

knows
sweet dog nose
a roof has a hip
the male has a ventral pouch
and those
hip bones
having sloping ends
and sloping sides

every poem about thunder was written under the protection of a roof

and cuts under
the fruit of liosa canina:

my dog has captured you

standardized testing

the year of the brackets

[a good year]
[except for taxes]
[ ! ] [indeed]
[author's initials]
[and year]

[and now for sport]

two batteries, part 1

you may already be a winner

if you have a mailbox
after a mishap
during a family
photograph
in small print
compatible with all
MP3 players and other
marginal considerations

bring this can to dorney park (flat beauty)

funicular fancy

thin envelope addressed

in my own handwriting

at the ball game

everyone

is a client


fancy

in the losing rain

today

is the day

to write on the hand

america


america

wet pony


bless us more

N street

@ the baseball game

we are all Adam's clients

[to be continued...]

drunk with prepositions

[to be continued...]

wisconsin avenue

is it comfortable

and left under a vanilla sky

does the turtle ever feel too fat

macomb at wisconsin

sweet potato pie

I looked at the map of AMERICA and it was hot all over

it had citronella

it had unwanted bugs

fat beaches and lines

none of it stained by tart-ish raspberries

I felt awkward talking to my unborn car

whilst the visible riders played in

I don't know

Pennsylvania

is a state of

annoyance

said my friend Kevin

I knew

as soon as he dropped that portable pie

on the ground

he was gonna claim the five-second rule

macomb & wisconsin

song of the high fructose corn syrup

adventures in eating
blazoned insecurities'
overcoat
whispering forms
disloyalty of
the room
is my type
of surface

macomb near wisconsin

our rent went up a lot more than our income

play bingo riding elephants through

I can remember her name

scrounging crayon sad that the trees hit

a color of blue you'd feed crocodiles

in a box of tornados in january aliens

vomiting gravity scattered among

sickness [ ] yes [ ] that's right [ ] colors

there was a post for a railing for some steps

as we sit in our small houses

some of our gadgets work and some don't

that the cardboard box

that is a cardboard whale

that has Lauren inside says

and the fake fireplace smelled like fake fire


foxglove, digitalis

crumbling and aristocratic

sky

it's hard to stay country when you're dead

for Lauren Bender

with a wind-worn flag on my truck

I go to the Internet

a white gut pushes into the ocean and

the water lifts its waves up to the stars

wisconsin avenue

this one looks like ohio

for Marissa

a bee walking up a ramp

the beers opening at the bar

particles are still particles

and beyond that particles

plastic

the crouton days of youth

it's real bacon
not that crap in a jar

this is the day of the big red truck

party

today's photo by rod smith

new bedford

there are stairs that go behind the lower rail

canaries in thick mines as the stem goes

people or flowering it's

the beachy sundress made of rags

and ten dollars from stores don't educate

a nice package

steppin' out in front of a lady WHAT

would our father in concrete think

incautious gray umbrella

with a small corking fee

when you take off your shirt

preston street

where where
sing to the dead
and their toothache medicine
and bring flowers
to that hole in the sky

man diet house woman sex

your belly is a comprehensive wonder
grapevine training in the canine days while
second shift diet lupine ran his eyes

women are vespine and prone and sexy
with their famous Italian sonnets
men are supine and married to someone else

someone’s week spent the week squelching
of vulpine which is sex over his plum

the dumpster on 36th

they are rennovating the house where once lived the three-legged dog who tried to pee on my dog Flash's head

love me

love my kewpie doll hair

grass shadow on concrete chunk

looks part starfish to me

Great song title! --Drew Gardner


you notice

oh you notice

all these things

the croutons

wrapped in the next syrup

of the big bang and this

like tits

may well be trucked

bestly tucked before

the nightlight days

of youth


bicycle day

I walk up to the door

with the "woman" symbol on it

and I think I love you

looks part starfish to me

to me, sad trailer of crayola,

what do you know of the red fruits

drinking the house green tea

balled into the fiberglass

of pushing through to grow

up in America

full of holes

and lots of stuff


there's always lots of stuff

paper landscape, street light moon

signature panel code

we, the strings of numbers

in order of a paper landscape

street light moon established

looking for the asdfjkdla


key


sudden to provide

geography of plastic


the raised digits and letters

we no longer need

tranquility

I haven't

been looking at air

love, american style

POETRY

I, too, was at the
disco, and there was
my stepmom, he likes
dancing very much--
snuggly wuggly--and
eating manginas
for late breakfast. Love
comma, where is your
fire question? I have
a velour skirt that
feels like sweatpants, it's
like octopus and
fireworks falling--
O my horny Love,
American Style.

wisconsin avenue (oy!)

yarn

this many people just can't want that note to self:

read a toe-up pattern

kitty knit chat

harlot on your fan fiction

a bee inside a lamp at night

the long line of JiffyJohns along the Mall

the wires beneath the airplane's wing

arapahoe

out of the stunned bushes

a box store under big unseen stars

rocky mountain national park

when I am charging all my small devices

when I am charging all my small devices

thinking of the mountain of the chattering

blackbirds

splendor in the grass

thirteen canaries

in the longest sky

the business suit gives way to helicopter udon body gives way to

the thong

in two halves gives way to

the longest sky

again

I roll my eyes

in the old days

before calm Willie

still standing there in a fig leaf stance

hands over his parts