March 4, 2016

concentricity warping sounds horses make





all the control panels lit up 
it said made from April 1993 
slag early slant angel sunshine 

trial harvest fair early machine wares 
get it to the station fix it pull it first 
lead the wayward into this future 
not the future...

A Former Calaveras County Frog roadside attraction  

it had mechanical brains 
jumping loop egg shell 
coin-operated time machines
an elm leg kept horse nearby 
the dispensary lights worked, 
given the amount of play 

inside
it smelled of sawdust bar top shuffleboard bowling 
stale beer worn carpet cigarettes and heavy hope perfume...

I just pretend to stare at the television =
early religious fanatic frequent copulat-or 
good rating texas in the spring is fine 
to visit until fire and bullets 
take over the babies with bibles 
and the law of a land is seeded 
those years with the language of terror =
domestic incineration belief(s) as a new religion...

david koresh theft-ed into audience familiarity 
by way of event managers and cleaners of problem frames 
in the spliced old days of holy man on hills finally speaking 

"...the internet is coming the internet is coming..."

charisma alone is a minor player 
these days of faux folly fear slippery narratives...

boom and bust cycle drift net hunger for historically 
important reasons class warfare is holy rectification(s)...

shipping logistics for micro bead robots 
that give humans orgasms when they're thinking 
about starting a revolution is a top of the charts list...

eat while you can I suppose 
the story goes...the american way 
is paved roads and passing 
the buck to the future souls...

so I'm mostly steam-punk-fantasy-noir 
I want to decanter poems 
get drunk on them myself 
love it when you do too 
but don't care if you do, do
steal over cobblestone 
gallop trot prance 
in sturdy leaps
to places forbidding 
me to lick with words 

you see I want to smell into 
the clutch snort toggle whinnying
your eyes have left me with...

a mythology 
of nostrils and lungs 
daring, demanding run 
shadow and velvet reach 
edge knife embrace woods...

we went along the banks 
moved mostly at night 
disposal nano-trackers 
in the affordable foods 
she said that's why I should fast
listeners too, bio-metric thought 
wave adjustment(s) 
and corollaries are 
in the soft drinks 
store your piss or
go right to local brew 
or 80 proof and above 

I thought you wanted 
a normal conversation 
outside the boundaries...

I noticed

you may have had cum 
or a sneeze stain 
on your laptop display 
please forgive me that 
I finally hoped out loud 
for you to clean it off 
I kept misreading 
things appearing there 
as poems...


EJR ©

1 comment:

  1. the neigh-palm hush9:22 AM, March 05, 2016

    "it said made from April 1993
    slag early slant angel sunshine" I crazy-love this part.

    These sections too:

    "get it to the station fix it pull it first
    lead the wayward into this future
    not the future..."

    "A Former Calaveras County Frog roadside attraction

    it had mechanical brains"

    "copulat-or" Cop(e) you late, Or. Cop you later. So much meat in this one little word split.

    "good rating texas in the spring is fine
    to visit until fire and bullets" Ha. You have no idea.

    "so I'm mostly steam-punk-fantasy-noir
    I want to decanter poems"

    "love it when you do too" I need to know if you really mean this. Because I really irritate most people and have actually been banned from blogs for being too much of a nuisance. So please just tell me if you want me to comment or not. I can abstain, or I can keep it short and simple. I don't have to do what I do. "Get drunk on poems." I AM capable of keeping it in my head.

    "steal over cobblestone
    gallop trot prance
    in sturdy leaps
    to places forbidding
    me to lick with words

    you see I want to smell into
    the clutch snort toggle whinnying
    your eyes have left me with...

    a mythology
    of nostrils and lungs
    daring, demanding run
    shadow and velvet reach
    edge knife embrace woods..." I can also just quote everything I really like. I have no problem doing that. But most poets hate it.

    "I thought you wanted
    a normal conversation
    outside the boundaries...
    I noticed" Being not-iced is kind of scary. The ice is all fakery, of course, because warmth is dangerous. Better to die in the tundra than trust people and have friends. That's how I've always been, anyway. I guess that's just because I've lost so many, for bizarre reasons mostly. But still. You can't be too careful. You can't be two-careful. When you're two, you're a crazy wild man. You completely live by impulse. I'm prone to do this. But I can get it under control. I know how to kill myself without harming my body. No one likes a toddler stuck in his/her (stuck in his her) terrible twos (especially when she's 38). I've spent plenty of my life not speaking and can always return. You and I are both bipolar, I think.

    That last stanza is flipping hilarious.

    Well, let me know. I love your poetry and obviously enjoy imbibing on it. But I can always refrain and read in silence.

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