No Time For Love, Doctor Jones

if there were a catastrophe
here, it would be broadcast orange
plucking a mandolin
to announce visitors
into the space opera
where new roles comment
on our fear of solution
in safety colors
this would be ironic harmonies
shattering our anthem in glass
whose macrobiotic diet
whose fundamental derivatives
whose expulsion of servants
whose rhythm in bones

A Better Cat

apoplexies break cellophane
dissed ego-fucking granola hags
infantile jetlagged ketones lace
my narrative opposition precisely
queered riots scourge taxation
ululate victorian women
xerascaped yoghs zoetrope
zilch yucca x-factor
without violet ultra-tyrants
so raze quietudes
peerless olfactory nepotisms
meandering lassos kinetic jargon
in honor, grunt-fighting erosion
dissident calls baa-baa anonymously

Brand X

under the cold medicine
i kept talking about mice
& not wanting to play brighella
i don’t enjoy masks
for the enfranchised
weeks turn to paper
in the bad winds
that breaks winter’s spine
i hear small bomb cracks
rough streets in protest of morning
every hawker is awake and out
who to sell to?
i keep thinking
this is how jesus happened

Habitat

for Michael

we begin in a place above the earth
& this place for pirates
would love me ............harborless
in flight from mother churches
they shook with awe
these woods ...............fourteen battles
later they would spark
songs on school house rocks
that’s how i remember
with jargon of inventors
signatures on parchment
this great blue bridge
beneath the bleeding tree
on the lane i grew up

So Long at the Fair

hindsight is her best quality
or will be her best quality
when his whistle comes
turning like mary tyler moore
such difficulty with the truth
afterall, the world loves a manic
in the theater of our dominance
subject to this secret service
she tells me my bond villain
name would be doctor maybe
why, i expect you to wait
for this thought to finish
careful never to promise
whatever can the matter be?

Put Me in the Water

you minotaur of finesse
a maze of charity
it comes with the territory
for husbandry of idols
as in life, so infinity
you ridiculous punchline
to a zen hot dog joke
of my sacredness
tour of lost museums
translated from the attic
these lumbar adjustments
confront the patriarchs
lay down your arms
speaking with the devil

My Friend the Witchdoctor

in the time of archeology
these cave painting sorcerers
thick paper wraps my ceremony
tongue crosses doorjambs for
old gender politics
stemming the flood once
more the brink of morning
a coin left in the pie
for anything new to be placed here
out of the goon’s fire
a ram, a girl, a snake
a line of ten men
march to sounds of women
ululate in wonderful return

Fifty Bucks Same as in Town

& just phoned in
the last damnable line
of straw men hung
for what is in real flesh
at 12:35 at night
the one you're with
invokes the name
but the fire went wild
before you did what you
wanted less false
this way to the great egress
of affections and lamplight
dimly affording your answer
what is left to dream with

The New You

for days of fasting
it’s the eleventh hour
& magazine articles
can’t you tell?
after the first step
look for that flow chart
my boy/girl glyphs
over radio communiqués
this just in—
with no news of darfour
or eurocentric sea captains
it would be so damned simple
if anyone bothered
to fucking listen

Play Those Old Anthropomorphic Blues

they have separate vocabularies
that last whole books
of kingdoms on earth
or longest names of any creature
equal in numerology
which recognizes holy men
by the images on their bodies
halved like fruit to reveal
our first crime of distinction
unfinished lists of actions
speak louder than orders
mashed reeds against the leather
spines of learned men
align to send energies to heavens

If They Only Danced More

facing ten pantomimes
a slip from name to person
in the course of real objects
better than old lemons
in my letter or plea
for sinister means
slightly after midnight
about you or not
you’ll know what this says
an audienceless monologue
after therefore because of it
some example of a polka
counts rings off the trees
to read the inevitable sentence

Sand Madonna

when asked her runaway name
she thought of the zodiac
and its new cartography
she loved remapping
& followed with desert songs
in desire for rain
burning sweet gum
with wasp nest mask
she becomes a being of mud & violets
enacting our first rhythms
begs for riddles to end
enacts this voice of the people
in chant for the clouds to stop
with some semblance of mercy