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The Divinity of Hoarse
There is darkness
sprayed in wild hairs
on the 12-muffin multi-pack
from the big ass grocery store.
Some countries have a rate of exchange
that is less than America
yet people are here, sticking around.
Then the dagger is allowed to come in
and spread the ribcage.
A flower declares itself rare
(on a shorted-out microphone)
when its stem cannot support
the weight of all the burly insects
eating the top portions.
As in, bending topple.
The accordion comes in to play a sad song for the phloem.
All the little puppies
come out from the shed
to chase the little kittens
that have come out
from the other shed.
And in the stride-free reaches of a brain
are all the distractions
associated with not making
it to the mountaintop. Stored there.
Underground, near a mountain,
miners dream about their families
with helmet lights
still coring each eyelid.
At least they have massive stores of jerky.
The rain crept slowly along the nape of 1997.
There is a lie about emptiness
and choosing the right clay-based girl
or soil for the perennials, which are dying
in the hands of those with
the heritage for pity or octagons.
Hello, canny lifelessness.
The sacrificial allocation of dimension:
a leg of grumpy chicken
on your plate on your lap.
You hate unity picnics.
The waif stream
of foreheads, the volleyball net
of caricatures. Molybdenum is a metal
that you do not see everyday
especially here at this park
with people and their lives
and their things that come through
every few years or so.
A vine swinger in jungle #5-c.
The hibernating capsule
begging to get spit into
the paradigm so that
the wild trumpeters
can have their say not again.
All guns and self-turquoise,
a pile of gizzards in Ecuador—
Where is the catamaran
why has it gone today?
Has it fled its shores for something more?
The comet has a green tail
in your sink where you question
your fundamentally space-aged
outlook on all things designated
for saucy raciness.
Image and Abstraction,
I’d like you to meet
Embodiment and Body.
Together at last.
Ah how divine when
They digest barbecued ribs
with sides of “Ohhh, chow.”
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