WASH THIS SPACE - ANOTHER MUTATION

in video form physical flaws wear
jackets causing a commotion
waving things around:

fantasy tonic resting tenderly
in a porcelain lap

you can fly from the fifteenth story
balcony with a hotel painting
for wings if you have no shame

retractable blade inflatable,
instructionless bleeding
fingers: lizard favors wrapped in HIV plastic


today the toilet paper dungeon will be lined
for parkour tricks with
the right to decline magically infringed

assembly of
grumbling mind control:
the ritual

of
lukewarm
luxury goods’
brain-machine interface

the motor cortex lord’s ducks
are talking yet again about

getting out of the insular t-shirt

it’s definitely fortunate that

men’s cologne stops
generations of worry
in homeless people’s
forbidding underwear 

quick and painless,
containing a sheet of lies
the scanner also
caught a section of the radio
station’s toe

a standard office scanner
in the bathroom
sending images of lies
straight to the toilet

do only giants – physically
disproportionally tall men and
women – commit
suicide?

shadow of unusually
square jaw
superimposed
on world of

blissfully productive
puny but 
familiar images

threatened bomb defuser
has a price:
very cheap, covered in
bandages, blows in

his face always (i.e. the bomb does),
each part blown away
is replaced by a robotic
gripper making him

gradually more expensive
(he will soon be just as
unaffordable as the real robot
machines employed to
defuse bombs, you watch) 

the
radio station
states that after the commercials
it will
initiate a state-wide seizure
of audience nervous systems

paralyzed
instructable
victim of spaghetti
entanglement – how cleverly

do you work your
pliers &
wrenches?

i will instruct you in
return for a blowjob with a monkey
wrench

invoice to cheap bomb defuser:
thanks for uniquely and reliably responding to
that force that stole
a million mandibles 

electrodes hammered through ears
surveillance system
mind reading breathtaking

water closet
duck itinerary
graffiti

BREATHING FIRE

hey pill popper:
why worry about borders or the jokes you’re not in on – the transparent nanospheres uniting to form a sense of isolation so stiff as to actually be holier than kevlar?

with the anti-horror disco activist talking shit about velcro shoes on display in dark decadent department store cages
with impact body armor forming around and validating the spooky dancing silhouettes of your agreements dancing and flickering across the yellow pigskin department store carpet

each time spring cleaning your caravan affects the climate you and the CREW stand before the ratty christmas calendar in 3D glasses holding chins, freaked out of your minds but the grave robber to your right and the tourette’s-juggling ethiopian bench press spotter to your left see the rectangular pits in cheap paper they see it in a typical EVERYDAY SENSE:

it’s a vacancy left by the miniskirt running for the train, the infectious spreading nullity of the boring test driver’s soliloquy in the drag car racing across the saltpans talking indentations of sultry death into the consciousness of the pneumatic vinyl monster hanging from the rearview mirror

infections can turn the black rectangular workplaces of both the wiry bench press spotter and the harrumphing grave robber into killer parking lots that smell like pirate ships and the enigmatic healing properties of torture ignored by the captain’s parrot, the two thin skidmarks of a wheelchair across the white marking presenting a scene of such pathos as to sink a thousand shopping trolleys  

rock paper scissors shaking themselves dry with incredible dance moves
the pure heart’s black eye and bloody nose first wallow self-pityingly in several different washing basins – ‘No, this one isn’t good; no give me that one, let’s try that one etc.’ – then suddenly the hand of fate thrusts down through the ceiling and toilets the lot

the world’s largest, most beautiful magnet is stuck to my fridge door and one night as i came down to smother my midnight munchies with all the crap in my fridge it said to me: it’s so good to see my No1 Undesirable again
then i was suddenly squashed against the fridge
i was squashed into my constituents particles by the amazing blinding allure of the fridge magnet

and i do appreciated life as a fireside inhalation
even though my friends are such nasty bloodsuckers they couldn’t help a fellow with poor eyesight at the racetrack by at least warming the butter under the incessant midnight trampling of hooves on his skull

SMALL-TOWN MARATHON

Most of these appendages have been surgically applied,
extracted from the pale iritic liquid in unlabelled bottles:
everyone is insecure about the fact that
armless jaws pose no danger.

The meanest of the monkeys wear socks over shoes.
This is the height of hubris what 
with demented dairy farmers marauding the land
aching to bust the shrink off those dead animals.

Save a nickel on the faintly glowing space rock – expensive
squeezeballs are for Aleister Crowley types
languishing with their pet weasels in front the TV
stress-balling to the infamous Baywatch remake.

A real collector of corpse sandals trains his loot to
adhere to the cliff-side diving board – the tour bus
skewered into the side of the cliff, bobbingly overlooking
the grimly dystopian landscape. The sandals left
behind will sadden the next potential suicide diver
to death.

A farewell note curled in the head of a hammer
stolen, come by via dishonest means, dislodges the giant
blot clot in meat pastie’s Femoral artery, dashing cathedrals
into pudding factories…

The voodoo that removes nits and boogers from
the zebra print cycling jersey. Laugh all you want:
I’d rather be non-biodegradable stone age carvings
on a pair of thin wheels zooming past – and narrowly
missing – a bunch of stunned explorers

than the life signals of one acting dead, or the weather
balloon thinking itself dealing someone a mean curveball.
Dead thumb piano believing hate. Gas guzzler suicide
music on the spooky dairy farm. Senses basking in enough
magical thinking until the two ends of some
random, small-town marathon lethally tie together. 

AS IF

there would be these purrs
as if of food trucks carrying
the wheel of death
betty white is still strapped to
it screaming as though at a
hilarious joke blemish-free
yet picket-fenced with silver
blades a cloth draped over
her in the back of the truck
this purr as if of the liquored
heart of a cloud object a black
devil’s crunching hip socket
the fuzzy procrastination at
the core of the underdog’s pillow

for the moment we all saw
steven tyler’s bottom lip covered
in thumb tacks an expression as
if raped in jail stepping down
from the solar expressway and
other life-threatening dangers
lashed together

the cigar of the talent agency’s
round bottom puffing snapshots
of trauma a kardashian home-coming
dance plaguing his knees viscera
with the suffocation as if of
a fridge

but this knife-thrower is a mega-
celebrity in his own right: you
hear only the lonely spirally
laments of whale song when
he hangs up the phone to your
birthday party requests you’ve
gone from a respectable father
who wants to seem cool by
inviting him to a dotard burping
natural gas with a lighter in
front of his mouth for
the rest of the afternoon –

and then your stupid rain dance
calling down a grim white sheet
from heaven with an oily fringe
and dappled here and there as if with
a few drops of blood

THE COOLEST CENTRIFUGE IN THE WORLD

each pebble prowled, the tesla tiger enclosure
illuminated their fur, their cancer either abated
on magnetic video tapes

or spread out dappling the dollhouse sky

heat stroke should be somewhat closer to the fake sunflower
standing wide-legged on the desert dune seeing so far

but nothing

praying captive, reassurance via letter to the washing machine:
that stoic, somnolent, churning captive of a pack of
wolves, cool spewing from tooth imprints,

clean shorts

i am happy with this birth, a vulgar bike seat
and so many scarless tracks on love
stolen to decompose

all stereotypical brain surgery laser training disease regenerative –
why charged with murder when you’re so ready to
eat red?

graft of weird baggage weight, niggling crucifix erase
silver disappearance, the sky unzipped

i think that is why the most likeable member of the jetsons porn crew is the boring policeman, as all retro futurism is about
tolerating your neighbor

its yellow heart loved where it hung

conserving juice disappearing
toilet paper, seating rinderpest

digitally cut through bone,
the improbability drive planted the charismatic rapper in a
piano’s body

give him a fair chance, the opportunity to inspire
sweating fruity pebbles in the coolest centrifuge in the world

cuddled in fetishes, bomb hoaxes resting on the cleverest gyroscopes

BALANCING A TOMATO ON YOUR HEAD

sanity: balling it up
putting it in: a microwave oven
it’s motion and texture:
shimmering
during my
lunch break: perhaps i shall inspect the shipwreck
my last glimpse of it:
not good
what it looked like:
a shipwreck
what it tried leaping over
before splatting: sin

what will be excavated next sunday:
a tomato
bends that way
when pressed
slightly on the left temple
by a forensic hypnotist
with a shrill goatee
drooly eyes &
halitosis:
panty raid

hymn to:
scaring the crap out of
earthquakes
cuts off her:
left
pinky
crisis: got in the way of masturbation 
symptom: got in the way of masturbation
prognosis: [sic] earthquake-proof?

there’s life on: nowhere 
most dangerous:
total control of
tic-burning festival &
marmite matinee

culling bugles:
futile quest
missing out
on: years of wisdom
fastest: fucking car, man

matchmaker:
louche
elixir:
gonna be dumb
melodramatic:
duct tape
medley
swing:
portion of
your god

I READ NEWSPAPER IN THE GYM

I coughed that last time, remember?
And went non-stick in the gym – I
hated the place first time I laid eyes
on it; built a self-teaching machine
from all the barbells –

went manual in the medicine ball corset
because I couldn’t trust it handing my
head and shoulders back after submerging
in the wet newspaper of shed cells.

Because a cough is a sea mine
with corks skewered by the spines.
Roll it across a wad of bubblegum –
it rolls unimpeded, like a ghost’s breath
steamrolled through bread crumbs.

Fever’s automation was disabled.
Suddenly it became a plume; like, suddenly
there was a plume walking my glands
like roadkill on a fucking leash.
Blocked on electronic spinal cord;
grappling with piercings in the blood.