Hour 8
Decomposure

trailing sparks dulled on contact

until chocolate paper separates

and winded to jar bucket of stems spread melted turtle/shell buttons

armed and fabulous

bridge to utopia from facedown wet strips

in repose (pose) with left elbow clasped,

sending knots into lemon and range storage lockers

salvage soldier’s toast from a vat of stirred feathered noodles

over the shadow air lapse hue shift,

grows heavy.

there is no glassy trace the lukewarm pangs

of waxen double franchised

turn and sheathed in taut string and tin

and you realize with terror that behind that complex

they already have the snow, shining their cuticles

waiting on the machinery for you to lose consciousness

in every home a computer,

every heart an operating system,

every sky a streetlight.

venting hall wait across for teal to halve with white peach moire

split sixteen filler hum

and hop, hand in the wind, mono eye for windmill

interchangeable as the words in your job title:

Il1, 2Z, 5S, O0

Qide. the best mirrors are unseen

rain on wednesday, snow on thursday;

day ships with night semaphore

REM make a light show or difference

words breathed solid to dissipate, never netted

with clawed fingers evading air for contest’s year

3:20 slow motion whisper and broken clock in a pop can (turn around, 2, 4)

rub your shared experiences together to thud on a rotating platform spiral mall,

gnarled polyethylene tails wagging at crossed outgive

then playing full court in a cast, boots and redfinger mitts

with yellowlined paper

written three times with dream erosion (sunning)

sliced bananas, toy fragments in a plastic shell put down twice

the click of opening jerks time forward a column of teeth,

?

evening wave as tracks carve and ebb across another diffused world

on the wet rock below cat richmond in the shade of tv halo

alarm stack, ‘movie nite’ in the middle

scaling a one hundred foot chain link fence to escape in winter,

i’ve done this before (contentment syndicate applause)

liberation is mugging and jigging

in a giant gold watermelon for preteens in minivans

patriots know which bombings to cheer for

sanctity of life, makeup, new and improved skin melting action

branch glass ripples and feedback

flattened against a wall talking sideways

something that bleedingedge shrapnel technology can’t solve.

mandatory leatherbound chains. we’ll see whose ghost faces share an eye

when they pave a church for a best buy, pawning

gardens for pillars for prophets for kings for invisible hands

tearing pages from flipbooks sunk in plastic bags

compact handful of ribbons unravelling radio face

pluck a stippled list with rippled fist (soapstone)

fix mist in paper cheeks braced for time’s trickle and displaced wrists

tossing torn smudges of a plasticine sandcastle into one of many dustbins

grain by grain until my arms are so weighted,

fingerpaint dries pinkedged and sleepmouthed

eating heels and peel paint shrug in a partial parking lot, the last for miles

and locking to perpendicular tire irons

when snow floats on string around the exhale of unseen.

it’s my own defined and combined opposition and compromise

that constrain the wavered tangles that fuse and collapse each moment

a burning log pylon with pillars ascending and foam to ash,

queue clearing review

support the troops

cls

* * *

they were hollowed out,

their cut yellow cages too endless to lift

they were not there.

the dirt inside their skin

went too deep to forgive

that’s three more points on the board

you must be steel to live by the sword

and darkness slowly covers the floor

then i walk home

and night floods the paths ahead

and each step to relive

and start tomorrow.

the blank inside my skin,

too cold to forgive

that’s three more points on the board

you must be steel to live by the sword

and darkness slowly covers the floor

let’s roll

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