It’s no good cooking meat now,
when the universe is fasting.
Surrounded by a tripwire,
either way there’s blasting.
Some folks fear the cowboys’ pride
enhancing man’s undoing.
The trees that whisper sweet consent
betray explosion brewing.
All the world’s a speeding dot on someone’s radar gun.
We’re the moving pieces of the television son.
Dejection chords obtain unholy vim in trumpet layers.
Competing shirt and shoe ads vie intensively for players.
Chemicals and bullets have weighed down the paper ship.
Please go to your local drugstore for a scripted tip.
General Hysteria has wed Major Depression.
Their poison logo tears have now translated this recession.
Revenge tattoos have patented the talon.
Hurtful death’s now packaged by the gallon.
Put big money down upon the favorite,
only givin’ two.
Late game bad calls turned it to a close one,
as they often do.
Down a point, they had to foul our scorer,
sent him to the stripe.
Three ticks left, he calmly swished the first shot,
then he took the pipe.
I was praying, screaming for a tap-in,
but it was too late.
Once again my boys had left me hangin’.
Watched ’em celebrate.
Bloody Mary, money maker,
queen of under cutters:
pepper my tomato heart,
until its beat flutters.
The morning sun was up but looked away.
A brace of turkeys scratched up on the roof.
They turned assaultive post Thanksgiving day.
John Zorn was tooting some radio goof.
Father left the food shelter with blue toes.
I’ll never buy a frozen skink again.
The party could have ended there and who knows.
We might have saved a lot of bathtub gin.
The waiting line was frayed and beat and leaning.
In corners fractured poets took their licks,
as though in this oblique time words had meaning,
as if each grave outsider needed kicks.