Wikipedia Poem, No. 260


“the joy that watches itself go away”


double the hexasaccharide
click on the lysozyme namely
glu35 green open heart mechanically

abundant mucopolysaccharides probably
similar to this acid glu35 green and
n-acetylglucosamine at the hydrolysis pub

in rapid bacteria this enzyme
in birds-lyse namely glu35 green
but mechanically separated

the weakening cell wall
carbon x-lysis in vertebrates
mild detergent doubling back



wikipedia poem, no. 47


Museum conditions for the Washington Biologist
  Washington daily in 1901
       tight ligature
on marinated planks
     An uneasy feeling 
Washington Biologist in the Washington Zoo 
this life

of Bankakee 
          Archivists disagree
          Never watched and the U.S. government in a 
new home and practice times 
      Rest in a five year 
        end it rue patter
for mammalogy  
      species of 
he had no more human 
The Museum took
    And in 1936 retrieved 
the first 
Skinless subject near 
          Jr. they called him
1871 of the 
      Indiana Audubon — the Hylobate
       Nation preceding
Smithsonian family

Arnaut Blowing Smoke at the Nose of His Dog


The Fourth Night of the Fifth Year

Stop reading: Things have gotten tense 
Between the Farmer and the Bodybuilder
The Farmer locked in the barn. Jed wakes
The largest rooster, which, in turn, interrupts
His old, bitch mother’s wild dream. Night
After night drunk as if pulled through a kaleidoscope
Basal carcinoma breeches its surface 
A mighty flip for the almighty then back — BACK
Through the airlock. It’s silent here amongst no chicks
Which switch as though ejaculated. Standing nude, monolithic
In the sun, the Farmer forced to clean up after the Bodybuilder.
Stars drip from the padlock lovely beneath the latch.
I can see you, Jed.

The Sixth Night of the Fourth Year

You can continue to stop reading: Things ain’t well
Between the Farmer and the Bodybuilder 
The Farmer has kept in the big, red barn
And Milk, who, it is written, 
Whether or not anyone reads, has continued to 
Dream prodigiously like a pig eating its own shit 
The Caesar wears like a pendant. Butchering’s 50 percent 
What isn’t written, she always said, and that is to say: 
Milk’s lunches have gotten slim.
Less meat landing at the padlock, less meat on the Farmer.
One man opening his hand toward another
Will take something for memory. Jed takes
But won’t remember.

The Eighth Night of the Third Year

You mustn’t read on: Mother is dead
Under a blanket dancing all of her little ones
Their loudest cottons torn along floorboards
Dancing through the eye of a needle.
No mountain passes but saying—oh—saying there are 
Mountain passes cut and in between
Remind me: The Farmer and the Bodybuilder
The Farmer locked in the big, red, burning barn
So many years ago, still, are cocooned back-to-back and hung
From the bark of the Alamo tree. I, the poet, sing to them every night
After night drunk as if pulled through a kaleidoscope
Hoping you will love.