12701 – 12800
Who weeps for Geraldine, or the colorless
suburban apothecary? For what
the naive partridge heralds, thorny atop
a dissolving pinnacle? For Irishmen?
For bananas that ostensibly bruise?
For the blackguard, his left-hand tingling
& holding trump while tomahawk thump
Greenland? For the forty-two plastered
in Havana who vivacious with lavender
& full of bigotry sip herbage by the gallon
welcoming their adoring man-of-war?
Or for Baghdad where, soon, the falcon will spar
with the huntsman & claw astride the somber squall.
First published: Anemone Sidecar 5. Kathryn Rantala, ed. (Fall 2009). Web. http://www.ravennapress.com/anemonesidecar/pdf/chapter_5.pdf
[27101 – 27200]
That fucking Massimo, nothing but boozing,
along with that hedonistic washout,
Mikhail. Dinosaurs the both of them.
They yowl & berate mommy & mothers-
in-law alike, the one a bullfrog, the
other an analog. Under the yarrow
or up in an axletree, they uncoil, a
centimetre past the deadline, daffy
& avuncular, & unsheathe themselves,
all circumvention. Now, no more of your
macabre metasyntactic molybdenum,
or, by Kraken, I’ll have the bouncer out
to castrate ye!
[34501 – 34600]
The equiangular vertices were
doable, but the whiskbroom was not, &
the subcontinent that had time-tested
tendinitis now embosoms batt &
bedfast. Workaround this demiurge with
me, Mr. Tam-Tam Alliaceous Cam-
isado & co-opt bop, a subgenre
of benzole, brainstorm, & amphetamine.
The uncowed undeliverable, the
zittern adzed with amygdalin, butane
& zeugma, with or without abusiveness.
Cock-Robin, Cock-Robin, your threesome
is axially diabolos. Cock-Robin,
Cock-Robin, your aircrew avision the end.