11 King Locus

So unlikely! Despite the haphazard planters in the elevator...
the prickly tortoise self-annihilated.


The formerly comatose tiger playing animal rummy in the hammock full of lettuce heads...
false wrappings, falsely prolonged, thrown away with the jugs of corn juice.

Standing on folding chairs, slack-jawed relatives in tiaras and dropcloths...
purple curses, in italics, on their backs...


Moth eaten camels in liberal lighting happily reglue...
broken phonographs.



Mounds of paper horns filled with quinine for the beleaguered masses...
pyramid of masonry buzzards hammered into shards...and shredded wings...

blowing up crates of elevator shoes.


Bobcat and foot-high scissors play out improvised strategies on a garbage can lid...
with emollients and balm bottles.


The sawhorse pencils in King Locus' white and grey hairs...
the way he always liked to draw them.