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Hippie Mores In the
Age of Chivalry
Wirt and Ed carve solos against the Moors’
throats, ticker tape guillotine and a floating hair
guitar.
Deft swirls of blood glide up through the water.
Jan puts a bike lock through her bird’s blonde beak
guided by lines of a spiritual draughtsman.
Hightower-the-Switchman nods on the job
in the loud subway tunnel; he dreams dragonfly in his
eyes.
He’s betrothed on a bird to the big white smack.
Redbird redbird Sing Sing, Sing Sing.
Wirt asked could I sell his shit to the blacks.
Pumping Station
Two
Under duress, follicles and sea water
white blood cells
swimming like embryos in the ocean’s cancerous stool
the pencil neck broken on the air of the current
this must be the floating peroxide of death with slick
patent heels wrapped by a sliding
and pumping Dior jellyfish.
O holy mess what could be more chic
than this operative sandwich,
layer on layer of green on black, yellow, tangy then
slack
flashing lights of a sea rig more yellow on black
then green on black, inky with phosphorus
like the octopus of madness
wielding his burning, underwater torch?
A
Natural Order
for Katia Kapovich
Slender catcalls of contamination,
Is that what we’ve imagined?
I‘m trying to “parse” pratfall from prejudice &
infatuation.
To determine the scope of white horse and steppe,
and that flaming red path to Jerusalem.
Surely Herr Wagner fell into Salome’s net.
Oh no, he did not, and his head is intact.
But leaves howl or cringe dependant on sunlight.
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