AARDVARK                                                        (94)

       I AM

       CALLED THIS

       TO BE FIRST

         Iris seed on full lawn                                94

         The silos swim into solstice clouded

         Tubers of dark.  Bearded grackles

         Heavy the metal weeds  come, feet,

         Dance the empty

       SWATTING ASTEROIDS,

AERIAL                                                          (94)

       FLIES FLY

       IN THE FACE OF REALITY.

       OKAY, JUST

             How will you complete the soaring flight of thought  92

             Your bird sense, like songs on high, over skyscape

                                                    skyscrapers,

             Resting on concrete cracks where beautiful seeds hide

             In dormancy, unable to reach fertile ground

             You think it’s fun                                92

             To remind me of pigeons

             Pecking at the celluloid eyes

             Of marketversion, imitated audiences,

             Pictures of pictures.

             Chewing cannibal ribs,

             You avoid the true horror

             Of the human heart

         I ride the jambiguity                                94

         Down the gullets of Ganymede

         Dressed in icy froth

         Along horsebrown paths

         Of panting

         Icecream saliva,

         Miraclewhipped

         To speed the dappled Sugar

         Homeward

         Machines rust                                         93

         Entropy, entropy

         Time is electrons

         If geometry is corralled.

         My horse loves me

         All the time.

         My tiller tills

         Petroleumleased land.

         Small blue thesaurus                                  94

         Sits dioxidizing

         Dinosaur creations,

         Penned plumage

         Of toothless tripescented

         Feline, pharaohfollowing,

         Ankhishly holding sparrows

         Like Teflon pterodactyls

AIREINGS                                                        (94)

       OF AIRELINGS,

               Houseflies humming in incandescence             91

               While the war raged on television,

               Hovering over the maggotridden beerbellies

               Of the boys we sent to prime (rib) time.

         Okay,                                                 94

         I remember a thunderous funnel

         Of birds before they

         Were beaten down

         Migration Miracles

         Bird cloud

         Tree megaphone

         Laughing leaves

         Temporary truce between

         Man and melody

       ANOTHER STATE

ALASKA                                                          (94)

       UNBAKED

       IS TOO COLD FOR MOST

ALBATROSS                                                       (94)

       TO SKINNY DIP WITHOUT FEATHERS,

       HUNG AROUND A POLAR BEAR’S NECK

         Birds like                                            94

         Worms

         In birds

         Fallen flightless

               In Iraq                                         91

               The brick and concrete are shattered

               “Brilliant” bombs are flying in; chickens

               Rebels, eagles and fraternizers

               Crawl amongst the wreckage

               Your tree has more circles,                     91

               Knots from broken branches, leaves that left,

               So I use my chainsaw, cut you down to my level,

               Sculpt a galloping stallion for friends to fawn over

               And leave a giant clearing, too empty for does in

                                                              Winter.

         Bird songs                                            94

         Bird soarings

         Bird pictures

         Word moorings

         Pellet sentences

         Seeking birdsoup

         Nourishment

         Bird names

         More words

         Psychic loop

         Lipserviced

         Birdnamed

         Eaglestall

         Sparrow fall

         Dropping leaves

         Leaving droppings

         Bird word Winter

         Skeleton trees

         A feather floats

         Slowly to the ground

             The dust of Summer filters over furniture         92

             And snows inside the house.  Baby cockroaches,

             Weighted down, can’t smell the manure

             Cruise the carpet and get their little feet wet.

           Lobster inspiration                                 93

           Antennae and eyes

           In a high pressure, blood,

           Redsurfaced world,

           Without other lives

           To live vicariously

           Or other

           Wise

       RED PAGODA

       NO TERMITES TREMBLE

       AT RED DYE NUMBER TWO

           Cave dwellers                                       93

           Used friction

           To spark stripes;

           Hissing snakes sizzled

           For their satings.

           Now, book worms

           Use fiction

           To stimulate limbs,

           Simulating flame

           With crinkles

           Not crackles

             Under mossy rocks                                 92

             Under (water) pressure

             In the muck miasma

             Under the big toe of poverty

             The sponge

             Dreams starfish darknesses

             And separation

       STRANGLING

ANACONDA                                                        (94)

       SLITHERING

ANALECTA                                                        (94)

       DELECTABLE

       EAT IT!

               Garbage glistened in the round receptacle       91

               Frost glazed the morning meadow

               Flies made babies, not knowing

               The trash men come at noon.

         Death spares nothing                                  94

         Entropy always

         Worms live within us

         Hope hangs in there

         Like red meat

ANIMAL TALES.                                                 (93)

       FLOUNDERING

       FOUNDRY

       FOUNDER

       FOUND HER

ANJOU?                                                          (94)

       DOES FISH SUIT YOU?

ANSUDA                                                          (94)

       THE

ANT FARM                                                      (93)

       BUSTLES ENCASE

       YOUR GLUTES

       HIDING HARRIED PRE

       OCCUPATIONS

           Does our fence really need                          93

           Feathers from the dead bird

           You dream?

             We went up with fat orange backpacks             92

             Puffing morning mist into thin scrubbrush

             Offered quail Familia crumbs

             As the treeline faded downward

               Mirror morning lake                             91

               Ripples with a loon’s light

               Frolic, escaping under

               To leave only laughing echoes

       BOVINE

       POSTHUMEROUS ACCOLADES

       CHEWING ON LONG CUD

       WORDS MAKE THE

       THIRSTY

ARIZONA UNCONSERVATIVE                                          (94)

       DRY

       TRYING SO HARD TO TALK GOOD NONSENSE, ALL, MERRILY,

       FILE

       ONE BY ONE

       INTO

THE ARK                                                         (94)

       PORCUPINED TREE OF YOUR

ARS                                                           (93)

       UP YOUR ART!

         Message to Michelle                                   94

         Translate me

         With a little taste

         Lick the words clean

         Sucking sounds out

         Before filleting them

           Beneathness                                         93

           You want

           A city frozen

           Under ice

           So that you won’t

           Need to put up

           With pity

           For the chilly mollusks

           Creeping into your heart

           Don’t disparage the drone                         93

           Look,

           The sly part is that those New

           York drones don’t need

           A queen

         coiled distance                                       94

         snapped felt

         felt wings

         of shape flood???????????wha\////????

         …. whirled…

         …… snapped…

         .. wheeled….

         ….. rush…..

         … wheeled?

       A BARE TRIBE

BEAR TRIBE                                                      (94)

             Dogs and kids                                     92

             And moons and

             Julys or Junes

             To soothe the

             Sting of silence

       DISCONTENT

       BARK

           Fig yesterday                                       93

           Cicada cast

           Long legs lured

           My baited breath

           Worm cast

           Plaster cast

           The whole noisy

           Play of figeating,

           Loud, insect actors

           With broken spirits

           And brittlemarrowed souls.

               The lost snail                                  91

               Slugging along the bricks

               Slime sister on concrete

             Chaos is not a butterfly;                         92

             Butterflies live within

             Slipstream geometry

             Hamiltonians,

             Halftruths to cover

             Our waxed and polished,

             Shineglossed,

             Shellac mistakes

               We were taking a tour of the farm               91

               Until, suddenly I screamed with alarm

               Just seventeen goats and a bunny

               So I thought it rather unfunny

               To feel a goose on my bountiful charms

         Chaos is not a butterfly                              94

         Butterfly

         Butterfly chaos, chaos butterfly

         Can rational metaphor describe it

         Without, somehow, unbecoming it?

       MORE THAN IN A

BILINGUAL                                                       (94)

       DOUBLEENTENDRE,

BIRD WATCHER’S DIGEST                                           (94)

       CHICKEN

             Picking contagion,                                92

             Cleaning like slaves,

             Born to janitorial joy

             Without mops or Spic and Span

             Without really loving man

             The maggot makes its living

             On a quest of germ destruction

         If Superman, writing memoirs about his deeds          94

         While trolling for pickerel in the reeds

         Slipped and fell upon his big red initial

         And swam with supper, would his words be superfishal?

               His Lap Dog                                     91

               Too rich to drive

               Myself away,

               I stay, sitting

               Sad, a tad tipsy,

               Isolated like

               The litter’s runt

BLACK BEAR                                                      (94)

           Clapping its intestine                              93

               Name the news event                             91

               Blame the blood

               Versify variations

               Of Voltaire’s  What Frenchman

               Was it?  maggots

               Growing out of a cat’s

               Vagina; telling the whore

               “That soon will be you”

               And hit the stomach

               The groin, the heart

               The brain, with one

               Tiny, little, rosecolored stain.

             Somehow, the maggots                              92

             And oatmeal

             Connect

             By my scorn

             Tries to put a hierarchy

             Upon the food chain

             Tries to separate the superficial

             From a shotgun facial

BLACK BUZZARD                                                   (94)

BLACK FLY                                                       (94)

             The rain hurt you harder

             Than laying with snakes?

     BLACK HORSE                                               (91)

BLACK SPARROW                                                   (94)

             I’ve got a chair and a stray dog                  92

             That comes by for food.  I’ve got trees diing,

             Invaded by insects.  They belong to the city,

             Both larvae and leaves, and the air

             Comes in stinky from Pasadena;

             It rains white ash flakes,

             Late at night when no one is supposed to notice

             When the smell is only registered upon aloevera dreams.

               Ditty to DogCatchers                           91

               My cat needs a licence

               To drive your prey wild

         The swan flew faster than ever                        94

         For fearfrozen fish,

         Dived and then

         BAM!!!!

         Headfirst it glided through clear ice,

         Outside the Pyrex factory;

         A feather landed in the snow

         Often, awake, I see                                   94

         Mice and rabbits

         Running across the page,

         Knowing that your poetry

         Understands

         The seen better than the dream

       THE

BOSTON PHOENIX                                                  (94)

       SPRINGS FROM

BOSTON                                                          (94)

BOTTOMFISH                                                      (94)

         Tachyphrasia                                          94

         Was was better

         Than that slow

         Tick talk that

         Spread like oleo

         From Lyme

         To infect the forest

         With dryrot

         Philosophizing,

         Rooted only to a treeflea

         Or deermite’s sense of purpose

BROODING HERON                                                  (94)

       IN

BROOKLYN                                                        (94)

             Winter                                            92

             Cicada

             Silence

           Birds                                              93

           How pretty they are

           Before the pellets hit them

         I see                                                94

         Icy crocuses

         The icy crow

         Cusses

         $@&*!@#$%^&

         I see!

CAROLINA WREN                                                  (94)

       CHIRPING

             Poetry lives as long                             92

             As pen meets paper

             In any gutter or penthouse

             Where there is feeling to express

             Or thought to share

             But good poetry goes

             Where great poetry doesn’t dare

             And will until the penthouse pet

             Kisses the gutter dog with glee

             And calls the barking “great poetry”

       ON THE

CAROUSEL                                                       (94)

       BOTHERING THE

CARPENTER                                                    (93)

       WHO CARRIES FOUR

CARREFOUR                                                      (94)

       SHOTGUNS

       WRENATTRACTING WHISTLES

       RED AND GREEN AND YELLOW SHELLS

       HONEYINTENDED AIM OF THE ALLEGORY LIKE

   CARRIONFLOWER                                              (92)

             Fancy cat claws                                  92

             The Blue Jay

             Feathers in its

             Frisky little

             Mouth

             Planes (made me almost deaf) landing             92

             Nearby; John Lennon’s “Imagine”

             Comes on the television this Sunday

             Morning; Cat’s crazed, knocking over

             The books from their shelves

             And, as far as I know, the rest

             Of the family is still alive.

             An empty mug reminds me

             Sunlight calls for coffee

             To be dripped and drunk

             My imagination grasps for Scotch Tape

             So that’s the end of the story,                  92

             No web to wonder over and remember

             No tales of spider glory,

             An arachnid dismembered

             And a poem about life?

             Explain me                                       92

             Analyze

             Talk about

             Word usage

             Shape and size

             The type, the page

             The lonely trout

             Speckled lake

             Doesn’t take

             Its beauty

             From reason

             Or season

       I’LL EXPLAIN WHAT I WILL

       BUT, DO YOU REALLY WANT TO KILL

       MY LOVE FOR LIFE

       WITH A LAHDEEDAH TALE OF YOUR DYING DUCK’S STRIFE?

       THE DEER ON HIS HOOD

       STARED BLANKLY DOWN AT ME

       LEAKING INTO THE WHOLE

             On Washington Square                             92

             Bug carpet leaves

             Sail on the wind

             Multiple visions

             Of a greybrown

             Day, insect eyes

             That don’t see

             “The Bottom Line”

             Flowerless husband                               92

             Bearing bulbs

             Removes his wife’s leg

             From his flatulence.

             Outside, bed bugs

             Run to the warmth

             Of hot air

             Under satin sheets

         Raven keeps its bill clean                           94

               Snowy crocuses                                 91

               Snowy crow cusses

           Salt lick suckers                                  93

           Froglike toads

           Weather or not

           We wear our thick skin

           Looking deeper into dawn                           93

           I see that “God’s Peace”

           Includes mollusks crushed

           By those same seagulls

           And crabs clawing at

           Each other

CRICKET                                                        (94)

       IS A CHIRPING

CRITIC                                                         (94)

         Senses tuned to wild life                            94

         She was never alone

CUMBERLAND                                                     (94)

       FARMS

         Bubbling udder juice                                 94

         Yellow, like me

         Trying to PUMP!… this poem up,                     94

         Another oily feather falls

               Walk on a paisley pattern                      91

               Run to exercise the dragon

               Invent flame alchemy

               So the smoke falls like snow

               Under dragonbreath rain

               Invent a city maze to amaze

               Yourself, wish spatial variety

               Travel the tenuous borders

               Kissing children, crying rainbow

               Colors, filled with all

               Like an unpoppable balloon

               Casting no shadow on the earth

             Do I really ever want                            92

             To ride the interstate

             Through Alabama, sit up straight,

             Startled to see those very

             Trees the poem sang about,

             Hear real redtailed hawks

             In heavy rain.  Will their song sound the same?

             Or will there be a soggy silence

             And, unable to feel the awe from that scene,

             Captured more by reality than

             The vision of beauty I used to see,

             Will I still love poetry?

         Hawk’s Flight                                        94

         Diving into the last line,

         Captured by a hunger for the beautiful

         Stuffed rabbit on display,

         Smashing against the plate glass,

         Falling into a pile of feathers,

         A couple of which I pick up for luck,

         Stick them into the defrost vent,

         Under my car window.

         Gargoyles                                            94

         Don’t grab

         At your gut

         But give

         You excuse

         For vomit

         Words and curses

           Get only visuals from bird names                   93

           And flowers named and blood,

           Got lazy imaginations but try to

           Get an image of this  In my shower cap

           I envied the elephant

               Cats are immune to the hairy greens            91

               Of okra poetry

           Listening to lizards                               93

         Sparky                                               94

         Hallucinating rodeo spirits

         Bucking through life

         Broken, spurred

         Bridled to some light angel

         Is also the most precious,

         Digestsized, photocopied

         Hoplophobia                                          94

         Streetsweeper words

         Chickenpecked imagery

         Alphabetical hallucinations

         Multisyllabic semiautomatic

         2 down one to go

         Pressed religion brown dandelions in yellow books

         The militia of the new monarchy  wait a second

         Amend or become outlaw

         Register or read

         What can still be painted

         Tax words tax bullets

         Driveby media law

         What is bad?                                         94

         What is badly?

         What is badly written

         If this is not?

         This is the panting oxen

         Of blue cheer

         Tullied and sullied

         And caught by the balls

               Must photos of sunsets and relatives           91

               And pictures painted with colored

               Words and the names of certain

               Fauna or flora enter every poem?

               Have we so tightly defined what is

               And is not the beauty of existence?

               Is it Tiger Lily time

               Or the grey goose down?

         The air is full of birdshit                         94

             Not my cats mating                               92

             They rape and are raped

             No poetry here for me

         Random words                                         94

         Random, random

         99 luftballoons

         And Red Rover falling

         Into the quagmire of a question

         Does the pause (do the paws?)

         Of dot, dot, dot, (…) count as a syllable?

             Cat and dog love analogies                       92

             Are wrong

             Because cats are not bitches

           Pigeon                                             93

           Poetry

           Pecking

           The pavement

           (do they coo or only poo?)

               Rhino                                          91

               Gross misconceptions

               Of tusk poaching

               Poets

         These lines did not need to be written             94

         Actors and birds slamming against an invisible wall

               The bough of boyhood                           91

               Bent under the high top

               The guilty discipline

               Of the puppy that went wild

               For its entire life thereafter

               Pins don’t capture it                        91

               Chaos is not a butterfly

         Hssssssssssss                                        94

         Hear it?

             Cicada                                           92

             Crazy legs Chirping

             Into my tortured brain

             Frustration

             Even the shotgun

             Won’t silence

             Cicada Incipience

         Three horses galloping free                          94

         Two had socks on

         One had me

             Loons are in style                               92

             This year

             In MidNew Hampshire, the herons

             Are resting, still barely nesting

         I guess insects are easy to see                      94

               Throwing a simple line                         91

               Baited for poetry fish

         Doodoo                                              94

         Dropped in the crack

         Between poetry and concrete

           Softly squeezing out colors                        93

           The gentle beast strangles

           For purpleblueyellowgreen

           Face effects

               Two nesting grounds                            91

               And herons are mentioned more

               Than they lay eggs

           entitled                                           93

           The Cat/Gas Engine/My Soul/ The Laser Printer/

           The Baby/ The Dog/ The Spider/ The Line/

           The Coke Machine/ The Riot/ The Garbage Disposal/ The Head/

           The Air Mailer/ The C.O.2 Tree/

           What it wanted

           Was to be fed.

         Larvae of the morning                                94

         Sunshine blows my mind

         Seeking, everlaughing

         She’s my lady, stealing lines.

           Denizens eat venison                               93

             Wrong moon, right moon, it’s still the moon          92

             We fell in love under

             Ants in our underwear

             Where the doe dies is today’s poetry             92

         The day it is yours                                  94

         Carp and catfish

         Lines dropped into mud

             The birthday boy on a Sopwith Camel              92

             (add blood somewhere)

             Knots in wood are dead eyes.

             Every dirty space between planks

             Is a prison bar.

             Every boat on every lake or ocean

             Is a forefinger pressed into the Earth’s belly

             Every Sunrise covers a gaping black hole

             In the universe.

             Every bed is a galaxy of insects and germs

             Moving the printpatterned sheets with vaporous

                                                       vibrations.

             Every sound tells of the atmosphere splitting in quakes

                                        at various distances,

             Here, in paranoia, deathpoetry.

         Road kill poetry                                     94

         The pus of squeezed pimples

         Shrubbery verity                                     94

         “Ni!”

         And humming bird farts

         For a whiff of the arts

         “Ni!”

         Amherst is buried under snow

         But the pantyhose still come out

         To aim a dart

         In broccoli directions.

         Asparagus takes years

         To root and settle

         While Carol contrives herself

         As a hummingbird feeder

         “Ni!”

         Between two of them

         Grateful

         Cheese

         Licking up dew

         Sentences.

         Verbs have or do

         Dart up

         Dart up!

         Down boy.

         Climb a tree.

           Art as dogmoosefly                                93

         Species: Poet                                         94

         His lines are arachnid

         Ararat on a rat’s ass

         Like antelopes loping

         Over a cliffedge

         If edited to the swansong

         Of an Anatidae

           Tonight the moon is a bird                          93

           Tonight the moon is a flower

           Tonight the moon is a puppy

           Tonight the moon is an aardvark’s hum

         …..Or Other Titles, Heads Without Bodies                 94

         (But Not Without Tales)

         Last line                                             94

         Red herring

         This is about the first line of this

         Zapper bulldogs                                       94

         A mucuswet sky

         Won’t release the harvest moon

             After Line 2, I Give Up                           92

             Rhythmmaking soulshaking

             Phrases forming words conforming

             And then there’s this dragon

             Stuck in my tea cup

             (Which, by the way, is porcelain

             So you know I’m not merely some bohemian)

             Angels’ echoes                                    92

             Angels, angels

             Flock of seagulls

             Descending angels

             Down to the depths

             Of my crazy, little, manic

             Up/down ma, man, manic, maniac, maniacal,

             “N””U””T” spells “Nuts”,

             Poetic heart.

         Apocalyptic Entrails                                  94

         Cryptic conclusions

         Trypticfolded illusions

         Chipped dick delusions

         Endtrail conclusions

           Over grass meadow,                                  93

           Mirrored birds,

           Breathless,

           She went

           Barefoot to the Buffet

               Our protozoa                                    91

               Dance together

               Circuitously

               All these poets trying to be remembered in words    91

               All of us, poets,

               Trying to be remembered

               In words

               Rather than words

               Remembered

               ………………..

               ………..BUT

         “I did not kill no cat”                               94

             We tear at the scabs                            92

             Weave word butterfly

             Bandages

             To seal the wounds

         DeerPoet                                           94

         Runs forest paths

         Scavenging for death

               Those snakes from                             91

               Hoopsnake cartoons

               And Indiana Jones

               Inspired this poem

         My poetry has                                       94

         A footprint fetish

               Black dreams                                  91

               Talent eyes

               Taloned eyes

               “Got no sight” poetry

         Paint pretty pictures in my brain                   94

         And then snap small bones

         In the “snowy field of foxtracks”

         Dripping blood fluids, all about

             The black dog of my guilt                       92

             Eats your white cat

             Nah, just kidding

         Wildlife Loving                                     94

         Scamper Camper

         I fire the woods

         To make sure

         The animals

         Are not dead

           Ram stall                                         93

           Butt out

           I am a bit trite                                  93

           As though my worms rain pockets of pages

           As though the sun is rising in the feast of potatoes,

                                                        like butter

           As though the flowers are brooming up bumbletrees

         Poetry Calm                                         94

         Moonwillow words lain out over the shadowy swan,

         Perfect pitches of serenity

         To avoid  ANY

         Fuckin asshole coming in and upsetting the fuckin balance

         Allright?!

         …….Okay,

         Swan fluffs its wings into midnight silence

             Wow, man!                                       92

             Look!  See how skillful

             The birds are at flying, man?

             Wow!

           Hey, duck,                                        93

           Duck!

           I’ll describe a scene                             93

           To trigger visions

           So that you’ll listen,

           Like the puppy licking my chocolate breasts,

           To the last line, which I will

           Throw in as a statement.

           Live free or die.

               Animal Secrets                                91

               Swallow, Tern, Robin,

               Bitch, Ass, Maggot

             Man,                                            92

             This ain’t right, man.

             I don’t want no fuckin’

             Hang gliders

             Scaring my fuckin’ birds

           Staple this to your brain:                        93

           You can call the cat with poetry

         SeaSick Fishing Chum                               94

         Fishing for poetry,

         He vomits imagery,

         Bait

         Hey, don’t sing bird songs to a cat like me         94

       Iguana on a pile of planks                            94

       Oops!

       No,

       It’s just a shadow

         When the blackberry moon rises                      94

         When the grapefruit moon rises

         When the aspirin moon rises

         When the crescent moon rises

         When the dixiecup moon rises

         When the donut moon rises

         When the pastry moon rises

         The pepsi moon

         The bloodshot moon

         The beandip moon

         The umlaut moon

         The incandescent moon

         The silkstockinged moon

         The sugarcane moon

         When the mayonnaise moon rises

         When the starkissed moon

         The bumblebee moon

         The tunafish moon

         The albacore moon

         The dolphin moon

         The blowfish moon

         The whaler’s moon

         When the wornout moon

         When the pizza moon

         When the pockmarked moon

         The chocolate moon

         The coldcoffee moon

         The constant moon

         When the dental floss moon

         When the breakdown moon

         The morning moon

         When the toilet paper moon rises

         When the moon rises

         I’ll be there

         Waiting for your reflection

         Still pulled, like the water

         By a tide of memory.

           Interlocking Illusions of Imagery                 93

           Elephant, Flowers, grass, night, needle,

           Trumpets, pebble, Raging, serious,

           Breaststroke (They always just have to

           Bring sex into it, don’t they?

           Now I’m supposed to remember the touch

           Of the first man on my nipples,

           The RUSH of my first woman

           And how it was a homecoming

           And how we both were the homecoming

           Queen and the texture of various fingers,

           The indecent roughness, the calloused

           Strength, the tender prodding before lips

           And tongue and teeth and the anticipation of …

           Well, suffice it to say, there’s just too much

           Sex in the body of our poetry today

           And way too much of it is just attached, superfluously,

           Like a penis.

         Shut (those damn noisy                              94

         Birds) Up!

         These Tears                                         94

         I won’t be happy

         Until the whole world,

         Maggot to magistrate,

         Plant, vegetable, fish, animal,

         All hear me crying these tears

         Creating the monsters of a bad trip,                94

         Goofing, they used to call it,

         Scaring up images of animals

         To inject into our dreams

         Scarey scarey animal kingdom

         Scary dark Africa

         You make me wonder

         If you aren’t a hunter

         Or a land developer

         Or a concrete contractor

         Or a politician

         We’ve given up writing poetry                       94

         It’s all these bills and debts everywhere

         All the romance of knights and princesses

         Is squashed under a rotting roof, falling

         From termites and tradition

TICKLED BY THUNDER                                            (94)

         She put an elephant in his coffee                   94

         Donuts on the side

         Called it “madlib” poetry

         And left by the window

         Imageryscrambled eyes                              94

         Blanched by clouds

         In the shadow of mountains

         Gravity is skewed

         But is not so much mystery

         As is the meaning of “crickets”

         Zoos and “Zoot alors”                               94

         Exist, essentially,

         As treasures.

         Zookeepers

         Tend to the animals

         With love

         And poets

         Build

         A natural habitat

         For astonishment

             I saw a heron                                   92

             Spread its wings

             Over the entire horizon

             But now loons are in vogue

             Spreading wings across the cover

             In the very latest fashions

               A muckraking ox                              91

               In an Oz of ours

               Ran amuck, broke his chain

               And trampled the flowers

               (And took a big chunk

               Out

               Of the freedom of the press)

             He lived with                                   92

             A purple tie

             In the closet,

             That the moths

             Fell in love with

             Immediately

               Cicada cicada                                 91

               What ‘s your favorite flavor?

       BLACK AND

WHITE, CROW ABOUT A CIRCLE OF REFLECTIONS                     (94)

         The poem neighed in the saddle of lines             94

         Ellipsis was the horse’s name

         Cantering over a field

         Of barley in the wind….

         No,

         Maybe it was a field of rye

         Horror is conservative                              94

         Gothic churches

         Dripped blood for the party

         Line

           A Sighting, A Gift                                93

           Gulls lifting land crabs to sky

           All at once Dropping them

               Finding it almost extinct                     91

               We get worried and begin mating procedures

               To save leprosy in our microscope zoo

               Somehow the word heron                        91

               Poets the sentence

               is it heron Sounds or awkward beauty

               They see as the symbol of the image (mage)?

         Violence is easy                                    94

         So you use it

         Because you’re lazy

         Fuck me with

         Metal head steel tips

         Tear the throat of

         The entire fucking

         WORLD

         You call yourself

         “Amused”

               mixed metaphors can be excused                91

               in the jumble of picture painting

               Clarity turns to watercolor mud

               And that’s the purpose

               To hide the fact that

               The poet really wants to expose

               His beastiality

               How he likes to be licked

               By the family doberman

               Likes the tooth danger

               Mistakes avid attention

               For saltlick love

               All dogs are bisexual

             You saw bearded Blake                           92

             In airborne paradise pedantry

             I saw a vision of Dryden

             No, He wasn’t hibernating

             He just didn’t want to be forced

             To smell the unwaxed fur

             Of soggy bears

             Let your tongue                                 92

             Swim through the sunken portholes

             Of my clichés, my hackknees,

             My dog growls,

             My dog ma is the bitch

             That torpedoed the best of my days

         Worshipping ducks                                   94

         The goose

         Making decoy art

         The Comparison

         To quackery and life

         Mallard makes green you bow?                        94

         What would a loon make brown you do?

             Hooves Speed Tail                               92

             In streaming thunder

             Turf of scuffed hair

             Chestnut thudding black

             Girl’s brushed like

             A young race horse

         Constructivist constructivitis                      94

         Waking blood

         Bound clocks and crocks

         Pulleyups , bed clothes on sun

         Line, birds , mocking house cage

         River of blood

         In an old bed

         Remembering your midnight body

         Under glasses that

         Shade our talents

         Shed your didacticism

         If you have to hide it

               Oh! Injury!                                   91

               What could mollusks

               Mean to me?

               Oh! Injury!

               Insects are swatted

               By the sea

               Oh!  Injury!

               Fish taken breathless

               Uneaten, rotting

               Oh!  Injury!

               How terribly trite

               Compared to the way you treated me

               Oh!  Injury!

           It’s a big world of art, now                      93

           Commemorate your ass off!