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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 isnā€™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 Iā€™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.