Structure The Myth
how gods & nymphs always
come with rapes
spread like benedictions
to the faithful
in orange sarongs
on the soft sand
History Of Zero
love and casino war poker
did you mean qawalli Fibonacci?
All parties compete on equal terms
in even rows
Yemeni chicks dig that
Sequins are snowflakes that stay on my nose
who digs the oil is western
Bones heal, chicks scar
ARCHAEOLO-chicks are digging
Bosnian skull pyramids
built this system
on rock ‘n’ roll
Nor stupid pictures
Xenakis in asspants
chant religieux soufiste qui doit
utility of numerals
to staunch Kristofferson
Memo To Henson
“We can grow a cow in purple—
on your ass.” We can shop and change color and rest
and shop again. We exist in space
or minds of teens with vermillion toenails
stroking our grover
out in the open,
just stroking him out there like that.
We can be swink
and shop Shopzilla.
do serious purple
in the turntable lab:
Dancehall Stars of 1986.
We can look to the book of Ezra
for solutions to the Bandar:
sickly people, sticky purple.
Muppet love sans drugs (we can turn them back).
We can entertain ambiguous images
of extras lounged in studio canteens,
we can devastate Cliff’s hands
at the office pool: “Moo
-chas grassy-ass, See-nor
ass-hat!” Look man, NO MORE HANDS!
We can be the essential funk
recordings of the ‘70s, circle the best
in purple. We can be the ‘80s, the dancy synthy ‘80s
that’s happening over again already.
inside your dank glamour,
the simple charisma involved
in our dream:
Grover. Grover in asspants.
Sparkly asspant purple.
2 Poems From "Rogue State"
Seaplanes crashing through windowpanes,
Moon passing river in paper cup.
The camels get restless—God whistles
Through the night like lewd boys
At the prison wrestling squad.
The Magi know their Atari—
Long drives from the bar to vacation bible school
Sear in the hotter mercies of the East
That leave one a-melt at landingstrips, a sherbet
Too orange for summer afternoons
Waiting to be licked up into tongues.
Here at the garden’s hot marges
Events soften into fire ants.
We cock ideas at prairie dogs
To watch them smoke, then squeal
Pythagoreans cross their ‘t’s
With dim narcissus fresh-picked from the clefs
Of that vast, inaudible cosmic symphony
The cow thieves once called home.
Zeus lets fly with the lightning rods
His hot heart flaming like shish-kebabs
Off a Deer Park backyard grill. Marshmellows
Crisp to swart mothers, I burn—pterodactyl
Dactyls sing over me with ease.
* Both poems previously published in Shampoo/Issue-11