Premium Pumps

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At the gas station, someone is barfing

Hunan Garden onto a set

of velvet pumps.  Fluids exchange.

.

You blow a dollar for a gallon

of volcanic cheese. Late night

fluorescent lights pull at the zipper.

 .

Brahma horns on the antennae

pick grumbles off the universe

like baboons pawing each other.

 .

The moon shows her crack

where a secret base transmits

signals to your ashtray:

 :

Insert nozzle. The gulag wash

of tumescent air over the hot dog water

signals the transaction complete.

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:

Garden of Earthly Cocoa Puffs

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I can’t slip into your meat pie

here in the mall, with the shoe barn

and the underwear festival

and the corrosive santa clause

jet pack milking an ice cream goddess.

.

The orange parade

of underage transvestites

backpacking their new brand

toilet bowls makes me mourn

the end of parsley. What’s

the difference between champagne

bubble gum and pussy?

No body eats gossip.

 ..

I can’t un-credit the carnival

of legs, the stump barn

of sugar, the Orange Julius

of laxatives mounding

and mounding until the food

court is an ocean of rainbow

vomit, where steam engines huff

black clouds of mascara until

everything is so slutty

I have to eat it.

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….:

Crystal Tomb

:

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I talk and talk but can’t get through

the impenetrable mosquito net of your silent

treatment. These windows are starving

for your blood. To be heard properly

try unveiling the brutality you expect.

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I had a dinner prepared for this dream

but you didn’t come today. Next time

I am robbed of what to say, burnt noon,

sun ochre, lingering twists of stars,

I’ll twist the netting with my tongue

until the spool is thick and you are revealed

and I am gagged meticulous.

.

.

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Knife weary, intruder, brandishes a stove

to my dream. I lament the cornbread,

its soft chew, the taste of a rabid bird,

carcass-like, morose as a Thursday lost of rain.

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Guiltstantaneous

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Sun-glint off floating dead fish,

sharp peakocky eye jabs

where the jellies drip to my finger

as I rub furiously at the stinging there.

Now I can’t see your escape act.

 .

Saber hooked ibis pokes out

distributions, humming the beautiful.

Ponds extrude their clogging fountains,

morose code in clear splatters,

churns the fishlings about gently.

 .

The fish are poisoned with sewage

I made. Waterfowl emerge gullet filled

with larval worms and bacterium,

the fish are twitching back to life,

being eaten from the inside out

by cosmic vengeance.

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::

Garbage Brain

I demonstrate a permanent disfigurement

by the high maneuvers of my quality handshakes.

The demons have loomed a quilt of harmful ambition

for me. Consider what toes

are on the march, what shadowy

manuscripts are recycling even now

in my brain, poured in and convinced in to

accepting your honesty as fodder.

Agent: Does the traffic give way for the garbage collector?

Agency: Only when the vultures tear up

                their bras and recruitment cards.

Heroes, consider this: I can squeeze you in

but the blood will clog the happy-happy cable lines.

::

Buzzard Sport

You hear it through the fog-

blustery trees, Spanish moss like tears.

you jump up from breakfast, eggs

on your lapel, dizzy with digestion.

Morning trucks spirit out the road.

You hack some minutes, finding spit

through last night’s whiskey.

It’s said that germs and smoke

travel the air looking for a hole to climb.

This weather will blur

the observatory windows

in the high up office

where buzzards traffic

and sport. Still you step in

a hole, marmot or crap,

ingots the size of never was.

And muck bellied tumble down,

sing for spell of stinging,

while, set taught, the dog is

hung up in fence wire

which chews her raw

as she dances hard to get loose.

This is the sound of what it was

brought you out to the day.

The sun singing herself to fog

so no one sees her

hang herself in moss.

Lu Lu Spectronaut

quiet your riddles, pink statue

 .

quite blossomed and forthright

happy to be Jell-O, to be free

of the canal light reflected

by your vagina, pink light

. 

kiss the ground, coin purse

skin your palm with sidewalk

 .

ecstatic tuning fork somber

on vibrate

 .

you smell anticipated

like popcorn and rubber

 .

shirt twitched with sweat

o so meager

 .

how big is your skyline, resilient

mashed to the middle

and loving it

 .

your beach towel is heavy

stitched by ancients

beaverskin cinema

.

somnambulant soda star

lift up your crescendo

and pass out the rings

::