three minutes to annihilate the prickly bedside rabble...
the butt with horns crossing the defective parking lot...
tiaras left on heads of lettuce...quinine in thermos bottles...
dark purple 'laughables' prolong the scoffing.
comatose tiger king, 'Papa Locus', wrapped in gauze
and dipped in yogurt, in a throwaway attempt...
the night is still, to a degree.
a series of accomplices under the guise of
garter-covered party goers
saw up the clifftop commando 'barriers'.
many miles away, in afternoon sun,
cornfield camels sitting in caneback chairs
cut up puzzle pieces to old phonograph music.
candles and corncobs piled across folding chairs
in a hammock of used nooses.
an unalloyed wave of the same mockery as before.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
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