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No
Dice for the Zen Buddhists
I lit another Export A
with the butt of my last one
& put it out in my
Spumoni,
when some shadowy religious
sole
stepped up to my table &
exclaimed,
“I know you can
obliterate the ego,”
when I responded why
don’t you
forge your way out the door,
asshole
& make some shadows,
they formed a circle
around me, but being
the elusive type, I disappeared
into a pile of ashes
on the barstool.
Delirium
after Arthur Rimbaud
15 minutes ‘til the
matinee, my sweet
the summer of love revisited
my beer evaporates in the sun
as we stare at the dirty
hippies
The Bass dance in the vast
sunlight
burning like Hesperus
Yesterday’s agitants in
shirts of cotton
looking like “The
Carpenters”
we dance silently as pudding
as they slaughter
the lamb
on the hill
for the fifth time
O, we say goodbye little
charmers
subjects of Babylon
Venus would quit in an
instant
at the site of these lame
children
maybe if it rained hamburgers
these gypsies would
leave us in peace
to attend to our afternoon
swim.
Cinema
Automatique
for Apollinaire
the children are either dead
or dancing at the movie
theatre
they enjoy their death
these children of vile women
seeming bourgeois with
their imported cigarettes
& Catholic burials
the music is vile
& the nuances of the
heart
commenced like barbed wire
the movie was over
& they charged out like
Romans
crushing each other
with perfect symmetry
their souls rise out
of my beer glass
with a murmur
like neon.
Clare
A. Voyance
We aim to please the passing
choirs
as they charge through the
mosque
in their burgundy camaros,
thinking
of Duluth & the
danger of falling into
the sad Lake Superior
& her fantastic
undergarments,
trout are singing in the ice
cream mirror
of love that lives on the
street of vanquished opportunity
the air doesn’t matter
to the Iroquois rating
buttons with their hats made
of bells
St. Clair is calm and the
moon is in love with the
beautiful rivers that dance
ecstatic in sunglasses
the jet pilots are large as
they explode in
the penniless sky filled with
marbles
the
moon over Africa
the moon will rise
over Africa, tomorrow
now it sits like
a hat on the horizon,
clouds still visible,
these plants that dress
up the earth
thriving off melted
snow & rain,
I personally am
heartbroken about
running over a
porcupine &
seek shelter
in the folds
of your dress.
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