For as long as it takes
them to walk
into and out of sight,
I am thinking
of boning the daughter
and of deboning the mother.
This is natural,
I think. This is natural
history. Even me.
Then a mother
and two daughters,
a mother and a daughter,
even a mother
and a daughter
and a granddaughter,
twenty forty sixty
or so. All are going
the same way,
to the source of the bags.
It is a demonstration
of the infinite
inflatability of people
and of the sizes
of clothes and of
the strength of seams
and of our eternal
double-blinded lust.
I am thinking of
how this common
spotted housedaughter
is fine, how a set
of identical bones,
bones to the bones
identical under
the daughter's smooth
skin, must also
do for the mother.
How enlarged
and how unlike
herself the mother is,
how now she is
a tented menagerie,
the girl one fast thing.
Rear Projection
I'm only fucking saying,
bullets do not ping or spark.
Tires do not squeal on dirt roads.
And no car, unless maybe
the fucking thing is booby-trapped,
would ever just fucking
blow up at any little thing.
I don't even mention what
the guy would have really done.
Cause what he really
would have done
is fucking dumped her ass
and those fucking kids.
And none of them would
ever fucking ever
have been them anyway.
A highly charged poem
A mall chick's out of the rain. She hits the Party Store aisles one two three with a checklist and leaves with her noisemakers and ribbons and a mug with a ceramic erection poking up from the bottom. This is just right for her sister. This is so cute. This is a riot. She is psyched. She requires failsafe devices. She is a highly charged system. She wears her red shirt with 57 blast-molded to her breasts. Bowls she checks out. Men she checks out. Shine back at her. Shine back at her, bowls and men she checks out. This is a highly charged political system. This is a charged political poem. She has noisemakers and ribbons and a mug of ceramic penis.
Elm Peg Leg
I am pulling your leg. I am
pulling your leg. I am pulling
your leg. I am pulling your
leg. I am pulling your leg.
I am pulling your leg I am.
Iam puulling yr legg. Yam
puling yore leg. I am pulling
your leg.
I am pull
ing
your leg.
I ampoule in your leg. I am
pal in deleg. Pull in your leg.
(I am.) I am pulling your leg.
I am Paul in the League.
[gelruoygnillupmai] Pullet?
Or Egg?
I wish I could say I
am not pulling your leg but
pulling by me is exactly what
your experience is in the
leg department right now.
I.M. Pei in Den Hague. Iron
pellet in lead. Ion pill indolent.
In a pool in Duluth. I am saying
yar (Hep.) Eye exam in your
head. I am pull and you're lead.
Shrike impaling a wren. I impel
and you're led. I am poling your
log. I am polling your league.
I am pilling your Lab. I imploring
you: lag! I am poor in Gulag. Eye-
impairing noir log. I am pulling
your leg. I am Peleg. You're preg.
How I killed Mattie Stepanek
in case you missed the news
was inspired. It was like this:
aiiiiiiiaiiiiiiiiii aiiiiiiiaiiiiiiiiii
die die die die die die die die
click.
I'll write a lament for myself.
Our local Mike Mulligan
and his faithful orange diesel
Weimar R700 buries orange
PVC beneath our lawn.
Our lawn is deepest greens,
the rains have been hard
and the oh look rainbows
harder. The sun, like
Jim's grandmother's hair,
falls everywhere at lunch.
A mole falls in love.