Friday, April 23, 2010


For brushing the highway clean
with a broom of horse tail
I was given in my cupped hands
clamshells writhing with
licorice-black maggots

a rainbow trapped triangular
in an apricot tin
four amphibious rectums in the realm of
forehead just above my scorched lashes

a wife with chrome insides to steer
toward the drive-in movie through
forests of vines that no longer need trees

and alleyways of coral no longer supported
by oceans, marble streetlamps bulbed
with lizard bellies taking on the light
of foreign stars: all glowing in the aftermath
of a torn wide sun, radios going wild.

Bikini bottoms puffing up so faintly
hung on antennas in what wide kisses earth
breathes up through concrete
slow to return to the death in a hot hard parking lot
crucified sideways on information television

holding a small dog in your small dog hands,
a morning we share, heavy as a bad spacecraft;
plowed highways slam into the sides of coffeeshops;
old kettles rattle a fresh hard-on's last shackles.

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