to the individual(s) that stole my car

your mother may yew drink of socrates
affixed to your forehead the fate, same

in minus embattled hoboken
a city street a doppelganger
of Delorian Gray

proportions
varied elements behind not a
vowel in the stratosphere

aware that you are being cursed
a city street chews up sneakers
inhabited the god of Victory inhibited
a buttery taste on salmonella fingers
would that Boticelli
perjured revampled planets
Vicodin touchdowns

you have a handle on income
get thee to the shadows
murmur glass against
and click, paycheck over your shoulder

but
aware that you are consumed
awakens a ceiling to meet your feet

a million eyes
trashcan juggernauts
bunkers of treasure
foursome bankers
beware chestpains
nostalgian affects won't post bills
& a cornered photograph bares claws

your head bookended
by peaces of pillows and barrels of steel

aware that you are being eaten

Freedom or, I hate you Pablo Neruda

I leave the building when
light turns to upside Dijon on the leaves
because your name isn’t written anywhere

Aye Sí
I hate you Pablo Neruda

You lung up
cough stanzas from the Fifth Internationale
ahh your dentist seashells waves nude women
in your big red luscious
vocabulary

to praise a minimum wage
you hang out and bum hearts
on Valentine’s Day in plastic cellophane
and stick mirrors in your shoelaces
to see upskirts
to upload on porn sites

I’d give ten to twenty years
of my life to see you behind
Bars fixing a laborer’s White Russian

Gabriel Garcia Coxucker

around the table
the sacrificial block
of a fondue pot
eiffel towers or
chopsticks for
fingers, Mr. Chopstickhands
wasn't a big box office sit
down. i'm not through.
(the world is one deep breathless)
ok:
the quickest oral
sexless
i've ever lost
to a bartender
& a ginger ale.
(so) this girl wanted me
to buy her
once
told me that she
was related somehow
to Gabriel Garcia Marquez--
six blowjobs of separation
everyone is a cumshot away
from not existing:
a toilet flush
a hangman's placenta
blue in the face
i told her that
like her,
he sucks.

atlas de las constelaciones mesopotámicas

como si la guerra

comme la guerre

rotulos de todos idiomas
idiotas (y) de todos Rómulo
somos

ba bélicos
son ambulo
reflejo de seres entreabiertos:
reflojo de dia, movimiento nocturno

como si el mapa me consta
escribir esta geografia tuya en la yema de tus dedos
el climax de una frase se derrite en punto

Atlas: criatura que mantiene el mundo patas abajo
todo se resume bajo los bigotes de Gustav Vigeland
como si atlas significaba por fin
llegado al limite, que se derrumbe!

entre-lude

in jet fuel nations

carb board boxes
low fellowed esteem in the cutouts on hills off 270
the beltway bursts

misfires and goes down in flames

somewhere over Cyberbia

a treecoat wanes on the wall
a definite fly

hardwired to time
as if envelope
a ghost we're
watching

watches
back

las cosas favoritas

whimpers on screen doors & duct taped transmissions

petty theft cigars and wednesday liaisons

night vision intrudes on green camera screens
fat turnip beatniks with variable sheens


sobbing on gravestones & heart felt confessions
digress & redress make garments from teaspoons
thrifty grandfathers predict manic springs
discounted sinners talk marketing boons


whiskers on tissues and missives in English
billboards steak hoarded and glad wrapped emissions

winked mitten hand puppets
spread twix'd a june
never made sandwiches
satisfy soon

it's a stained night
a soft lung preens
while the clock swings back

it's early december on dandelion wings
hard light diffuses , as it had