Dear J.,
It’s nesting season here.
Three weeks I’ve seen yr remains running, wondering if they should cancel
Their vacation.
I’ve heard larva’s twitter feeds panhandle industries
Of clockwise feeling, some terrible airlifted odds, beaten.
I’m surprised you declined
Before dragging yourself onto the sand
to lay another clutch of eggs
when this breeding blowout
Still has tissue to test
Once the after-school carcass
Begins trawling Bush-level love,
I imagine a big stick
Bludgeoning webcams
Dear J.,
After you covered my head with numbers
Olive in color
Did another partial necropsy on 17, 50
Heck of a job to not go to the war the rest of us to go
To reduce the end of our diminished values
High-pitched solar screams on payroll for OPEC
I’m afraid
Fewer frames
Come down
To fewer options
Dear J.,
I endorse the morning of 9/12
Do signals breathe? Dumped internal colonies
Tell me how to make this moment
Transformative
Dear J.,
Feeling better and better about looming threats
Carried out under normal circumstances
That a wiped meadow makes room
For a motel
For tourists its disaster season
This year, plenty of rooms still available
Dear J.,
Wildlife needs to die
Before we can commission to investigate
What it is we need
To eliminate
Overnight
This issue we can’t
Explore
Strengthens our country’s
Craving
to hate
What we need
To see
Or shop
For a solution
Overnight
Seen by the public
To produce more of them
A great team, assembled
Whose job is also
To ask for another
End to this historic
Cut in how many Times Square bombers
Emerge
Politically safe
In this wake
Should labels
Embrace
What we had done on the morning of 9/12
Or have democrats already asked for another fear
They will scream
I don’t buy
Gasoline
Without carrying on sadly
In the wind, solar, electric
Midterm elections
Who would support
Love without a fixed
Price
dear J.,
when you plunge into my reservoir of traffic signals, saddling this smile the police train posthumously, my eye observes something barbaric. a city shed of light screaming all around me, pure in its cluster of symptoms contracting from within, where the anatomy of my desires perambulate in a palace of reflexes, jostling for which mirage counts.
- nicky
No comments:
Post a Comment