12 A Chorus of Sawhorses

Unlikely, to put right the prickly plans of accomplices from years ago.

To confiscate his wife's purple garters in the elevator full of hammocks
and lettuce heads.

To unite and compare horsehairs.


False trappings and remarkable litters sent crashing through
new, but immediately condemned masonry

in a slew of modified elevator cars.


The cursed moth-eaten relatives of the Tiger King
marched through the plaza
and into a giant rubber ball to tumbledown the clifftop.

A flash of sunlight on beach shells.

"Who's guard dog is this?"


A chorus of sawhorses in dreamed rooms.

Camels with shredded wings,
skin and cotton padding humps
covered with emollient-dipped dropcloths.


Fed up with the ill-mannered and spoiled,

To strike down the nightly electrocutions,

the Bobcat flying away on a garbage can lid.

White hairs, grey hairs
the way he always liked them.



Pyramid of paper horns.

The folding chair carved from a single palm tree.


Oh, to pick one's teeth underwater...

1 That Corncob Complexion

unlike the tortoise, in three minutes anoint... halter, noose, corncob.
evidence.

playing card under the tiger's rump.
"Rise, lift for shoes! Bedroom slipper to collide with..."

Behind me, mockery from an ounce of small wildcat...

The girl with the corncob complexion.
__________________

unlike tortoise, ever naked, always taking three minutes to remember anyone.

Respectfully anoint, smear, modify halter, noose, corncob. Evidence.

playing cards rise out of the tiger's rump.
rise, lift, fall into our shoes.

without an ounce of mockery, the small wildcat picks up the host's bedroom slipper...
colliding with that corncob complexion.
____________________

unlike dog, tortoise never naked, always looking both ways, before taking three minutes to cross the street. Remember?

Respectably add: an ointment or smear of Halternoose corn juice, evidence of nothing.

playing 'rump cards' with the old tiger...
get a rise out of the old bastard...the new lifts for his shoes came in the mail today.

bedroom slippers to the trash can...collision with that man with the corncob complexion.
His skin feels like it's still behind me... a mockery.

He's not worth an ounce of small wildcat.

Remember??