6.7
NOT ANOTHER EARTHQUAKE!, he yelled,
standing up
and shaking all over like Elvis
his family gathered around the dinner table
doing their best to ignore him
as he grabbed a broom
from the hall closet
and ran around jiggling all the light fixtures
on the ceiling.
When it was over
he sat back down to
dinner.
Passing the dinner rolls,
a perfect gentleman.
The threat of aftershocks
ever present.
Shoplifting on a Molecular Level
Shoplifting on a molecular level
black carbon paper etchings of the night mimic
Master Taillight, your metallic army of followers
digesting lurid gasoline tales of dysphasia
islands constructed from volcano like the earth
breaking out
a jailbird frenzy to your rule
riots in the bedroom under thick woolen covers
lips over breast like a geological survey
hungry wet tongue lizard flicked for hungry effect
you knew it would come to this, didn’t you?
the rotten green sea traversed by rotten green men
treachery in all its forms on display
making widows of us all.
Fluid Situation
she climbed into the inner ear canal
and they gave her a bed
on the ward
with wax sheets and wax walls
and wax orderlies
as though the poor have
museums
and when she was well
and it came time to be discharged
they gave her a yellow bathing suit
and a pair of goggles
and showed her to the
waterslide.
A Fine Artist Now Not So Fine
He fell into the wall
like it was sneaking up
on him
as if the government
were in on it too
because they didn’t like the bottle
and the way he slept in
past noon
so when he cursed them
he yelled extra loud
so that all the listening devices
in the walls of his house
could
hear.
Yelling up to a Window that Does Not Exist
we are late for the movie
gatherings of water buffalo herding
the neon street corners
into right angles
cars hissing by in the rain
like Madagascar roaches
the sewers backed up and spilling out
into brand new lake formations
tax dollars nowhere to be seen
elected officials blowing kisses in absentia
yelling up to a window that does not exist,
the bricks of walls all sticking together
as though even the lost fingers of fireworks
are cliquey.
Did You Report Me to the Spooks?
I see them outside the apartment
sitting nefariously in dark cars two at a time
the intelligence community a little less so
digging through orange peels and balled up tissues
searching out treason from the ground up
not knowing what it looks like
but assured they are paid to find it
or perhaps the next look will be at them
closer scrutiny than the screening process, dig?
and no one wants that so I wish them luck
but not too much you see,
I keep all the good stuff inside
in my noodle,
those things for no one
but me.
Sun Umbrella Augers Digging Lonely Mafioso Holes
it’s time to bounce, ain’t nothing going on here
leave these words, abandon this page
my green tennis ball bouncing over fresh asphalt
as though anyone can get laid on principle
blood thinners and desk drawers full of lost wood
the spooks going door to door, leaning into intimidation
sun umbrella augers digging lonely Mafioso holes
answering machines full of questions
you still here? it’s time to bounce –
my friends are all outside, growing swoll with oxygen.
Pluto
What the hell did Pluto ever do to them?
he scoffed,
they’ve revoked its status as a planet.
Who wants to be a damn planet anyways?
I offered.
At least now Pluto can sit around on its space ass
doing nothing. That sounds pretty good.
I think Pluto is a planet,
he stated.
To hell with them,
I am tired of this bullshit!
But now that Pluto doesn’t have to be a planet
like all the others, it can just float around
with no planetary expectations.
No people coming and polluting all your air.
Terraforming the shit out of you, so they can
play golf and defecate on you.
PLUTO IS A PLANET!,
he remained adamant.
I think you have the hots for Pluto my man,
I mocked,
I think you want to father a half dozen of its children
and raise them to stand up straight.
He had nothing to say to that
so it got a little quieter
on Earth.
As the sun shone on our faces.
Trying to become something malignant.