Wikipedia Poem, No. 125

 

You say
puff pastry you say
tax credit is a bulldog

by now she’s
probably lost in traffic
skin darker than guns
my father’s obsessed

it will be hungry
that guy who
makes hot sauce

climbs up my forefinger and into
whatever the girls’ mortal wound —
And I’m all like, bent, reaching
raise my hand to the horizon, beside

el niño spirit; and the exploded
my palm — safety — I straighten, &
down into the garbage where I roach

the Willis Tower, comparing, &
the vile, beautiful blattaria leaves me
and scales its black terrace and ponders
its sudden, liberal transformation — soon

as a way to juxtapose the mundane
condition the banal, blue
body; the salted, post-, uncombed

She didn’t even
take it
or gibberish in a cafeteria line
or bleeding all over Italy.

with Stevie Ray Vaughan


Includes four lines from "I love winter nights..." by Paul Ferrell,
     published in "The Cosby Show" (2015) by Water of Life Press. 

Untitled Potion, 040520152117

IMG_5261

You are given one potion
At the beginning of every clash
Another, you choose 
In peacetime, & pay for
With an excise stamp of flesh.