Tuesday, January 10, 2012


Can't figure out what to do with
this dead animal. No stove big enough
remains above sea level.

The wise elephant tends to want to
power nap – next to its head
the reading lamp breaks all sorts of patterns.
It starts off looking like hundreds of fingers eating
out of the same take-away box, to grain rippling
from the impact of a split atom.

To a split atom
that merely runs on air.

Oh … to a polygraph's icky overflow
after reaching a sweet spot in
the green fetal homunculus
in the midst of convulsive inspiration...

syndrome, stuck on flashing. What a
sad waste of photosynthetic dew-snot
by the carnivorous.

Usually charmed by anything resembling
CPR with tweezers on a gazelle's lymph nodes
or on a groin tumor – their superstitions rubberized,
a quick bollard alignment on their reverse flight –
lions have nevertheless continued to stare at your tusks.

When living in the former USSR,
just how many apocalyptic tonsillectomies
did you perform?

No comments:

Post a Comment

Search This Blog