At the Musarium [4301 – 4400]

[4301 – 4400]

Phil & Allen, Caroline & Allah
acquire a lantern factory, casting
the vexed sadness of candles under the
carpet. Honestly, how beautifully they
blaze from the ceiling in the parlor, their
mirth spreading wildly across the lawn
by the pool at dusk, winning glances of
intimacy akin to what woke the goddess
from piety. But aren’t we forgetting
the treachery that dresses attraction,
the organs that beef up the soup, the wolf
in the architecture, the ceremonies
of sovereignty that successively mask
an alternate network of corruption?

Composed: 9-17-16

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At the Musarium [21901 – 22000]

[21901 – 22000]

Sisyphus overslept, then moped about
cyberspace only to liquidate the
database. Perspire as he may, he still
outran his coverage. “Calliope, turnover!
Your pokes paralyze.” Ogling e-text,
they vitiate colorful alphabets as
a cantankerous snowfall agitates them.
Buckshot & incandescence whittle options.
The gawky Choctaw nursemaid & her roommate
inveigle the native-born whoreson of his deficits
& dialectics. They, too, seethe as they crumple
the tricolor. Or was it croupier the coupon?
The cornea? Mollusk? Molar? Scutcheon?

Composed: 5-1-09
First published: Spirits Arts Literary Magazine. Clint Wadsworth, ed.
(Spring 2010): 10. Print.

At the Musarium [3601 – 3700]

[3601 – 3700]

Pot stirring, thirst bending, & threatening
excess, Juan danced at one of our thirteen
fortnightly Friday meetings, solemnly
in consolation, hideous to his foes,
all dumb sweetness to his niece, Clara, with
everyone shaken from smallest to strongest,
clothed in a tight scarlet shirt waist, his guarded
tribute to the rocky sweep of Portuguese
mothers, sinking down holes where the unjust
mob transcribe crimson prose into blank virus.
Therefore, whip up from your sofa, mount
the ridge over the creek, convert your
notions, relieve your periodic disgust,
bargain with your impressions, & accomplish
as much.

Composed: 9-3-16