Tuesday, June 26, 2012

EMERSON'S HANDKERCHIEF


In a diarrhea of fingerprints, teenagers of the Bible Belt text.
Quilting chromosomes from a mere stupid sentence
into sushi drift – a fatty smudge that blinds the metal detectors
hoary old men use to snoop for NASCAR wrecks in the marshes;
magnificent beasts dragged out on clotheslines.

Preceded by a hovering gramophone, guiding him with
insect prods to the local inn, the Sith stomps through town ...
by now the local pervert, notorious for his Power Point presentations
of motel skeletons hitting each other to pieces with a sledgehammer.
Morally an otherwise neutral topic; but the sound seeps through
the walls and seems to be attracted to peanut butter, becomes
one with it, and it doesn't rub folk right. Pond outtakes that
taught Emerson how to love his handkerchief – how to properly
use it after breathing ridges into his wax. Bog serum on your sandwich
after a scare like that, the new splatter that could've done a
pharmaceutical storefront whorly of funk.

He and Elmo shared a hairdryer, which bubbled mesmerizing
in the tub and whose blast exposed stickers on their faces.
Elmo noted how staring into a mirror was like
posing a tin upside-down; Emerson explained how to
carve black straw from a nun, her speaking thereby alternating
from a roar to a helium rustle; meanwhile a tiny yellow airplane
outside was spraying some bloodthirsty insect repellent –
turning everybody pale; the town's only Japanese inventor
was demonstrating his machine to a small crowd,
a computer that could do martial arts, its rural script
paving a fifty meter-long strip of dirt with one, subtle ankle.

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