Saturday, June 9, 2012

A CHICKEN IN MY FILING CABINET


What I think, usually, when looking at my filing cabinet,
is feed the machine

the near death state of its stored life
there must be a trick to its continuing glaze
what's it – milder rose hair?

there are slits in stars
the juice around my Betamax's crusting loops

of their lifespans, I think vibrating
with mitochondrial circulation
draped plankton scented
a glitch in the toy deep down
your mantis took years picking its way out of Walmart
but my chicken had literally time traveled out of there...
its butt's googly central eye
the rest of its body plus the antenna misinterpreted as
looking well-proportioned only on comic furniture

remember: the traumatic negative placebo
hunter raisins crawling up paper
this is the war's new face passing beyond the beyond
housing a sprocket's personality trait
breaking, and with a gesture holding shut the speed of light
Tron's biofuel hacked out of the old lady's backyard
one dollop of it sparged
over the heart

a spring can slow you down
it nests so frequently

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