No God Damn Title, It’s For the Future
At Body Worlds

---

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

No God Damn Title, It’s For the Future

Hello is so obsolete.

              Last Christmas, everyone started wearing the suspicious eyes
                            of a pirate from a black and white film
                            that seems to run endlessly at a brick movie house
                            in the part of town
                            nobody lives.

This morning a note arrived in every mailbox East of 7-11.
             We’ve come to swindle and embezzle. Regards.
              P.S. Your attorney is aware of the plot.       

I trust every dog’s yellow teeth.
Don't believe the neighbor who gives a nod and mows his lawn for the second time.

I remember a woman, how she squinted,
having set her glasses down for the night. 

I might have got it wrong to love only what can be pitied.

What would the controller say?

Go like maniacs deep in the ground, dread the atomic age?
Mustn’t keep the closet shut.

I boast and show off the mustard
glossy bones.
The laughing butchers conversed
with the spine.

Our internet is an infant, it gurgles stupidly.

There is a petition and a lawsuit, there always is.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

At Body Worlds

I saw myself yesterday. I don’t know why
there were no mirrors.
Not a thing to say or ask.

              I was older under glass and lights,
                            skin peeled back with red muscles
                                          spliced in posture.

              Against the wall, some one’s heart,
                            maybe my own, was stripped
                                          of its stanzas and placed
                                                        near an unrepentant spleen.

 

Everything was gone. I seemed so
still, significant.