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 ©
"it said made from April 1993
ReplyDeleteslag 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.