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“Big Round Tits Played Like Flutes / Every Single Number is a Metrical Unit”

There is no war
buy buy buy
Ode
to
What

Charming isn’t it? How here, high, second storying
There can be none. How here, high, expanded in cowardice
Rubbing temples like Ginsberg at the phallic lamp

HEROIC

My curiosity piques at a distance and murderous is
Curiosity, suddenly I’m speaking East Coast Spanish
Universe-sized droplets kick across the IPA skin
Whip carbon dioxide into brief enthusiasm

POETRY POETRY POETRY
STOP SELLING ME!

Internal rhyme, do I care about the color of my beer?
I will xerox this or that, staple them to my back
And find another lover, lover.

SHE

Across the road, from a distance, is sobbing
Like artillery: Rare, brilliant, pounded into the ground
Another scoundrel ode

Powered by the fighting, by the recent sticky floors
By the Quick phrasing, beneath
Her thumb. Am I quoting that correctly?

Breathe, offset temple, breathe.

A lo hecho, pecho.

QUOTE, draft 100520131220

unlicked filth on bentbranch fingers
               & a chemical thin residue

lean waits to be pleased
across his mottled brow
               & thensudden cheekbone spikes

no gleam. despite his mottling hair

a swamp alive
               & long ago wet precious &
                    fragile
                    as a cradle

unprintable man
loved at impossible distance and when
               & when
wise brown eyes close
               & back turns
into every crack
memories like steam rise.