chapbook highwaymen

8/10/2019 Chapbook Highwaymen

1/4

Hero and Leander

In sooth, I know not why I am so sad.

This time, another one-and-only, I do.Start with vernal dockings and transplant

vegetation, fierce jelly-bricked rocks.

Dunderheadly, I wake constipated night,

aslant from the stocking of anothers dream.

Sleep-thick nights of painless codification;

perusable laws circumscribed to corner labs,

patched from Steinway or Low Corp, etc.

Hollering, I hang my comb and rule-brush

like a filigree atop an immaculate settee.

Nifty critters wing about my larded brains,

asking but for a quiet misogyny at dusk

as female dandelions unfurl faded visors.

Whispered rudiments and soft consortiums

recollect the broad days ovine boundaries:

its creeping lurch a sanitary who-done-it,

the nervy commission of leather-wearers.

My properties themselves, one edamame

at a time, digitalize sails of burnt memes,

postured clippings swept across the noon.

Soapy contrabands born. Ol Narcolepsy

goes second-cousin to wishy-washy debris.

Tubers droop in slooped caskets. TVs set.

Lamps shrug. Sheets luckily unravel like

a snails tuckus recumbent on giddy pearl.

I crochet napkin prescriptions, await mail,

a worried warrior of ancient mythic sleep


2/4

chasm-deep in novacane-induced reveries.

Posterity phones. Conniption-fits are had.

Plums from next door remind why we avoid

our neighbors because in haughtiest regard

we see so little of ourselves anymore to know

we were wack. We were the first flawed place.

Chubby nail-biters and wet blankets go forth.

Geodesic radios switch and prepare stop-gaps,

start tirade-sweet static, a conspicuous hymn

of vanitys finer stuff, dull-linened chastity,

while we worm from a heirloom headboard.

Others repeat less dimensional bias beliefs.

Stepmothers have been rumored in the interior.

Van Dyke and Van Schmuck hop on the truck,

and Im like them, stalwart as fog, a moccasin

swart like thorned attorney, festooning gaily.

What would an aesthetic be, pornographically?

Or forgetting the allegory of analogy, jerked

up from your copy of Hero and Leander, you

see in a buried remark a family resemblance.

Either way, I flush and bring up another image

from my Ferris wheel. Weeds conceal yet have

a romantic, renovative spirit. Stone-smoothening,

they bandage new wounds. They emit no names.


3/4

Elegaic Rat-a-tat-tat

I have really no idea why Im so good at losing people.

Maybe its my kaleidoscopic sense theyve already left

even when they havent. Like you, here in the dust-up,

saddle make-up, eyeing crematory atmospherics that

gentle others install at or for the lovely exhibition.

I cant quite say what I would say, or wouldnt

right now. A moon, drowsy and isotopic, picks

from its cotton-mouth bland, sluggish number.

It says, without recharging, your times up.

Another sweet stir to fatten heralding leaves.

Still, you challenge me with alien logic to name

something inviolable, or violent. Either way,it has to have consequence in material chunks.

Or you could forget it and go curve like the jug

handles of a fruit-colored carrying case. Opened

up, a tenor cornet is playing akimbo silhouette.


4/4

Home Movie

Even so, jambalaya, you best be on the

Way back to a nifty drumming of what

Really concerns you, who will soak up

The remaining branches that configure

Your violent place in shifting, sifting,

Druggist elegies, hapless elders tossed

Like a flinching keystroke in the wrong

Room of letters, the spammed erection

Of the heart, other meaty edibles, period

Pieces youll be reading years from now

With a tempered jauntiness, if for noOther reason than the resolution lists

A capsized televised object endlessly

Like a rhapsody without techie hump.

Come with me in the stony effacement

Thats just speaking with ordinary vales

Complexioned to closest relative hour,

Cheated by fleet dispersal of clenched

Amorative belongingship. I release you

Or I release the next item of attentionCould be interchangeable objectives fit

For nostalgia of the king. Meanwhile

The king listens, but does not govern.

And defeatism is quickly letting go.

chapbook highwaymen

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