. . . has firmly expressed his

image of 2 bed 1 bath

once more, flee the cold exterior

of objects staged to make you feel

“at home.” A cottage industry,

before the bubble burst. Then

here you go, Atlantic, open

wide, the hard enjambment like

the parting of the waters, just a little

peace of mind to still my troubled

assets. The Facebook-stalker

midnight cobalt blue

we all sat down around the tablecloth.

I’m not afraid—of you. Expect

your reimbursement

Thursday morning. Studikarte,

the convenient way to ride.

Empirical as any heart

could tell you, now we count

increasingly the chips not yet

cashed in, course terribly

through veins unschooled

in holding off an army, now

the rout just needs

our go-ahead to start. Look,

I’ll quake in any boots that fit me.

Wearing pajamas, but it promises

its loyalty, tonight let’s you & I

pretend that I’m America & you’re

the common cold. The slump occurs

before the shoulders buckle.

Anyway, yr lexicon got mugged.
There like last time anyway you got me in the 1990s flashback lookin’ like a prince. Unlikely! Pirouette or don’t keep acting like it. We’ll resuscitate this episode, & don’t you try dissuading us.
Jindal would like your votes, if you have a minute. — some act like they don’t play the “food card.” This week at the global marketplace: no olives?!
. . . but those aren’t the reasons she cited

for leaving the country. These are the reasons she

cited for leaving the country.
I think he was shaving, at least he had a

razor in his hand.
kisses in the morning

kisses in the evening

kisses at suppertime
you will NOT, then, take it in the wrong way

when I tell you how happy we’ve been
& I could trust you with

my life, I really could

(the same time, there’s that

heavy nondescript dull thump

stereo off somewhere chugging bass)

l’etat, c’est televised

like any fictional violence
& here he stood with that razor

this week in the global marketplace

we take turns taking bullets

for each other, next up it’s

The Ultimate Sacrifice

or mother-tongue & father-land

break up & let their cute, sad kid

explain which bruised-up parent

ought to raise him, to a court

who’s mostly interested in

corporations—this week—
america revalution overdue

(& taking careful notes in comment threads)

the Pharmacon has spoken. (More on this later.)
The turnstile trips

a highly sophisticated home-security network

not that we haven’t

hence the new morality

of sales clerks

importunate as a Potsdam

pistol whip
Remember, when the credit is

revoked, there’s no time like

today to plan yr memoir. Show ’em

how you did it, got in

while the getting was superbly good

& purl your way back home. Peculiar

how the taste of whiskey

lingers in the mouth of one

who knows he has a home to go

back home to. I don’t think I feel the guilt

the right wing says I do, but it’s hard

to be sure about this stuff. Impostors

are constant, everywhere you look.
adjusts his eyepatch

that the world might change

beside it

eventual, claiming that he didn’t

see the lone pedestrian

  before the big collision
speaks “collusion” with a snarl

     don’t trust them

here, across the border, who’d’ve

expertise is

everywhere you look

—& Lars has switched the television on
Not trusting it exactly, but what choice do you think I have? The eyes of the potatoes growing, daily. Just an old-school kind of worrier I guess.
. . . preparing an alternative path to citizenship, we ratify the right of entrance in the polis, keep that shit out; I see you lookin, can’t decide if it’s “askance.”
Kristina Marshall, 42, found dead in the bathroom of her own abandoned home. Jason Marshall, 48, lead suspect. We will have more

information for you in the future.
It’s all quite clever, but the problem’s that

I’ve heard your sentence/sentence

pun before

we laid the law down (down to rest)

but dust yr knees off

   I have never stopped admiring

your fortitude, whatever

other points of argument

we have
would anyway advise you

not to Tread On Me

whatever else you do—
& opened fire yesterday

in Frankfurt

on a bus between

now say it, countrymen,

or that the bodies form

an element of proper discourse

not that sex is

everything that it’s

cracked up the unions like a

trust me, this’ll be
ein bisschen umgangssprachlich

(she reminded me)
& I was silent.

*


Off we go

the ebb & flow are valuable

descriptors, showing movement

moves as well—
a fair amount of faith

to border logic

like a metaphor
an end to all intentions

if you trust it—
Yesterday the bombs, today

a picture of the bombs across the mountain

building cities out of wax

    & string a wick

like any character

imagined in the text

to heave an axe
Imagining a reason for the narratives that pick a fight with anything that makes them, saw the grid laid out like futures fit to fill. He wanted an image of Jupiter projected on his chest, his face, obscuring his features if possible. Not hiding but almost, push whatever picture to the side.
this Pharmacon w/ sunken eyes

that smiles blackness

like a radiating sun, inverts

the sky
where I could see the axe

approaching its narration

but his face was dry

                as anyone could see
Goodbye to all those trains

& people on them

beating terrified against the walls till dead
& hard to blame him for

his nervous laughter

as the (television) wave destroys

    the (television) city

in Japan—
Millenium heartbeat, kick my

second twist of lemon, state

hibiscus like a flower

under duress. The future is

as edible as newsprint, I intend,

therefore the AP picks it up.

They left their figurative language

in the vinyl chairs outside

the closed-air market, hunted

for olives but the blunderbuss

went cold. I trust

my congressman but not that

other rabble. Then the ocean

was as loud as any mouth

that sagged so widely: under us

the dolphins bleeding from

a new, collective headwound, just

like paragraphs would

underneath the story. Allow me

to repeat this in the language of

an idiom untarnished by

its uses, once I find one. Parallax

or chain-smoke underneath

the stars. I liked this word

the one time that I heard it.

A system of natural gender, but we

abandoned the instrumental case.

How much damage? About the same

as any cheese-puff paranoia

(if you follow) gets to play at

with a basket full of flour

& the moon. I will watch the whole

thing turn around my thumbnail,

insha’Allah, cuz here’s a kosmos, there’s

tuberculotic lungs. The best ones

drown. Imposterous. The Pharmacon

has firmly expressed his

appetite for bargain-basement

warrantees, his heartbeat

kicking dust up in

the tungsten glowing day. Once ore

into the pistol-whipping Thorough.

Impressed by all their images of sand.