THE AUTOMATED BRIDLE CORD AT HOME

A skunk in the dashboard
before the hamburger and milkshake
to mold one perfect, unbroken
stamina in a light bulb
into ice crystals; frost coats
on every cooling blade and leaf
memory's sorter of signals to watch the waxing and the waning of that silvery
one way network tucked away amongst the weeds
essence of a room filled with rich black spots compelled me to paint her
smells of leather and wood and the superb, mint-colored seedpod

You have been the living dead because all that ever was
books and dust, draperies and animals
the swarm of entities that came tumbling out of the omega minus

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