The Pollen Path
Originally published by Radioactive Cloud
~~~
where the river runs,
walk with me down the pollen path,
like a record player needle, we fall into place.
to play a flute filled with cement,
or a cello without any fingers,
we’ll need to sit quietly along the banks,
and wait for these pages to turn themselves.
~~~
on the pollen path,
follow the sound of the timpani drum,
and as the stick strikes the hide of the goat,
breathe in one nostril for the sun
and the other for the moon,
then wait for the corn stalks to sprout scales
to weigh out our hearts with feathers.
as the baboons chant wildly at the rising of the sun,
dive down deep into the swamp
and wait for this fever dream to subside.
but do not mistake this madness with fervor,
as the bubbles rise from the bottom of the pot
and condense on the lid,
a spout screams furiously in a dimly-lit kitchen,
that silence right before the storm may actually be
the eye
to look through:
a salt doll stands curiously in the sand.
but that wave will break too,
with the blazing ball of fire at its zenith,
I squeeze peaches to see if they’re ripe,
thump watermelons and tap coconuts,
I place my finger on a slow grillin steak and say:
you done yet?
gimme the big knife,
I’ma cut it like a rug,
like a chunk of ice outta the frozen lake,
I drop my bait down.
I ain’t fished these waters before but I assume they’re holdin somethin,
after all, ain’t every day a raw chicken liver falls into your handbasket,
hot damn.
I profess I am a bit chilly.
how’s about a fresh-brewed coffee to warm yer gills,
or an ice-cold stout to ease your noggin?
these neurons are a troublin me,
buzzin like cicadas,
a carpenter bee in a fence post,
a swarm of yellow jackets on a pile of rotten meat.
i grow this stuff myself,
for myself,
and those who come to tarry.
i cut holes in these cardboard boxes for the fireflies inside,
i should set em free, i figure,
but the lightnin sure is nice,
prolly couldn’t find my way outta the outhouse
or into the kitchen without em,
and with the stove burnin,
i believe i’ll just howl at the moonpies,
wouldn’t you, Brambles?
one eye closes and another one opens:
and the salt doll dips a toe into the surf.
and i can swell the seas a risin,
the mouths of the rivers overflowin like a washtub
bass baby,
if you gots the broom handle i gots the strang,
without a yoohoo or a yoyo,
i cats cradle into the fourth dimension,
where the aquifer meets the well,
where our milk bottles are chillin.
when the tides subside,
I’ll sit on the banks and count minnows as they pour out into the sea,
I’ll trace the paths of the starlings as they flutter overhead,
I’ll listen to the croak of the bullfrogs down in the marsh,
I’ll see the swarm of dragonflies,
and sit in this sunroom,
and soak up the sun like a lizard,
with eggs to roost,
I’ll watch the traffic pass outside my window,
and not move,
knowing that these fields will flood again.
Step up into the floating fortress
and sink down into the crater lake.
Lock eyes with the electric eels.
These worms will cover your skin like gold dust,
if you sifted through them,
you’d find the way to the pollen path:
right up the corn stalk.
while they chant and scream,
I hear the squawk of the phoenix,
and feel a single bead of sweat trickle down this broken staff of a spine,
a dowsing stick,
a radio antenna,
a metal detector,
a fishing pole,
a wooden spoon.
I’m communing with the songbirds,
their beaks are piercing my drums,
and the headless chicken lives on for years,
and the nautilus,
the octopus shelled.
I dream of cephalopods
crawling into empty jugs.
I dream of boars,
drug up from rock quarries.
I dream of dragonflies,
swarming around our heads.
I dream of grasshoppers,
praying mantis
and stick bug.
one door closes and another one opens:
and the salt doll slowly dissolves into the brine.
damn right I like the life i live,
oh the lives i’ve lived,
planter boxes on window sills,
potato eyes sprouting in canning jars,
chickens roosting in fig trees,
a knot of cottonmouths on an abandoned dock,
keep talkin preacher,
i believe i hear my call,
sayonara village people,
i’ll be swoonin with the train whistles
beneath the school in the sky,
you can never snuff out the flame.
In the beginning,
there was a stew,
a master broth,
a stock pot simmering on a stove top burner.
i breathe out one nostril for the sun
and the other for the moon,
and as a breeze blows through an Aeolian harp,
a cicada clings to the trunk of a tree,
and a cricket rosins up his bow.
~~~
A spillin moon rising.
A murmuration of starlings.
A worm hole opening.
Take out your trowel and digit.
Red wigglers curling around a rusty treble clef:
Our brother, Harmony.
A squawking fish.
Cough up a lung and cut along the seam:
A wide lazy river depositing the silt.
A sandbag cast from a hot air balloon.
Punch that dough ball and fold in the seeds.
The sprouts will grow higher than the antennae on our rooftops.
~~~
THESE HERE LANDS,
THESE LANDS ARE
STRANGE LANDS.
so i wake up
spelling R-O-S-E-S.
i follow sweet lemons
rolling down sidewalk lanes,
underneath bellowing umbrella pines,
i snowball.
i marsh mud.
i waterlog:
barnacle.
time capsule.
fjord.
THESE HERE LANDS,
THESE LANDS ARE
tossing & turning
through a field of cauliflower.
so we honeybee.
we cut up rug
to roll out red carpet.
we bathe ourselves
in cinder & smoke,
then brush our teeth
with the ashes.
THESE HERE LANDS,
THESE LANDS ARE
a whale tail slapping the surface before sinking to the eels.
so we pyrex:
we hold mold & not crumble.
we cowboy stomach:
we steak knife to red meat.
THESE HERE LANDS,
THESE LANDS ARE
a diamond encrusted cross
hanging from a tarnished golden chain.
so we dragonfly handstand
on a leaf of grass.
we debeard our clams
and spit out the silt.
we sneeze
& our banjos
bend space-time.
THESE HERE LANDS,
THESE LANDS ARE
STRANGE LANDS.
[the key to the bottlerocket]
[is in the gears]
[of the music box]
so we water bear
the brunt of the load
from faucet to stable,
and when the paintbrush disappears in the artist’s hand,
and all that’s left of the canvas is the frame,
we follow our threads through ballpoint pens,
grind our peanuts down into butter,
and shapeshift our way into the undertow.
~~~
On the days that Pozzi sings,
A turntable spits.
Wisteria weeps on a wrought iron fence.
A milk cow moans.
Dogwood down on the riverbank buddin.
A cloud of pollen blows from
Pine to Pine.
A cricket slurps.
A bullfrog scarfs down a horseshoe crab.
A largemouth inhales a gray tail squirrel.
A lightning bug feasts on a big fat grub.
A watermelon vine sprouts from a chewed up seed.
A pearl takes shape in a cracked rock oyster.
A pecan tree pierces through a black boar’s gut.
Chicken peckin dirt grain:
the nest egg’s casing.
When a good time was a table saw
mounted to a rooftop,
and lunchtime began
when a hoe cast no shadow
in a wide open field,
LOOK UP.
After all, our statues were only fiestas
waiting to be carved into a block of granite.
~~~
when the jasmine blooms
and the figs hang heavy
in the land of pianos & scales,
the local yokel
dances the tarantella
with the other half of the blood orange.
when the apricots rot
and the blackberries ripen
in between the river and the reeds,
I'm nursed back to wealth
in the mouth of the wolf,
and shipped west to The Fruitcake Empire.
~~~
I was born a unicorn
on the banks of the Chattahoochee,
wound up as tight as a tiddly wink
til the scaffolding disappeared
and I slipped down the bathtub drain.
I was spinning around in a single file line,
til i cracked my skull open
on an open door frame,
then woke up on the windowsill,
well sponge me off baby,
i’ma rub a dub dub,
is my caveat,
and gimme my soapbox,
cause whatever is
will be
will be
will be
something about fireflies,
fireflies,
the fireflies,
rising out of the ground
and heading up
into the trees.
The succubus came to my bedside
every night for years,
til i froze the windchimes
and cut ties with the woman king.
With the coyotes at my neck,
I roasted my goat on an open flame,
then picked up the bullfrog
and washed down the giblets
with Fernet,
Fernetti,
FOREVER FER NAY NAY.
While the Mathematicians
laughed in my face,
The Polyglot
wrestled me
out of the window,
and the Arborist led me through the forest,
pointing to the leaves:
Honey Locust,
Sassafras,
Sweetgum,
and Maple.
With my head dunked under the water
without a raft in sight,
The Elderly Nun
with backwards feet
was walking across the
Book of the Dead,
& The Aid Worker
fixed my banjo
with a worn out tool
and we went
a pickin and a grinnin
a pickin and a grinnin
a pickin and
I was raised at the infirmary,
with the King’s Cornet held high:
wall eye, banshee,
wall eye, banshee,
wall eye, banshee,
a pig and a poke,
he taught pigeons and rats,
he set the tenor and tone
by stepping out of the ivory tower
that had been built upon
a bed of seer stones.
well don’t come a knockin on our doors
with your little ivy leaflets.
them snake oil salesman,
don’t bend over in the garden granny,
them taters got eyes.
moose out front shoulda told ya,
somebody call a doctor,
cause you only got one neck,
to be over easy,
hoop cheese.
caught em on a cane pole and a top bug,
i toot my own horn and it goes:
NONE OF THE ABOVE.
I gargle the coke
and throw a frenetic hissy fit,
i’m just tryin to find the notes that go well together —
a pecking order.
to be in a pickle,
you gotta cut it like a knife.
under the meteor shower,
i touched a cicada in the street,
thinking he was dead,
only to see him fly away.
in the barren desert,
I stood with the butterfly net in hand,
while the butcher sat in the doorway,
speaking to the fish
in broken guaraní.
~~~
on the street with Ace but no Spade,
Kinfolk with no teeth
trades spaces
with the Man with One Eye.
the Lady with painted lips
sews souls pouches
into the sleeves of our shirts.
a Push Broom shuffles by
a Vacuum Cleaner Hose.
a Blind Man pronounces:
"It's so nice to see you."
and on the day it rained twizzlers on the Moonshiner’s Parade,
buffalo bones
piled up
in the curbs and the gutters,
and the Clowns' make up
streamed down their faces
into their brown paper bags.
~~~
crawl into the cocoon
& silk.
how many days went by
before you started counting them?
the clock drips.
it spells C-H-I-M-E.
the airlock bubbles.
yeast slurp.
but your attention occupies a cloud,
not an orbit,
so YOU WANT THIS BY THE CAT
OR BY THE POUND?
i'd rather have squirrels,
but tell me about the rabbits.
how they hop.
how their motions affect
the passage of mine.
in a country full of children,
who eats the crust of the bread?
dancing naked in a sun room,
you told me my fortune as i ate it:
it's time for a shoe shinin.
it's time for a back waxin.
i said
MAN THAT'S A LOT A TIRES.
i said
MAN THAT'S A LOT A TIRES.
i said
4 SETS A FLIPPETS & A WAIL:
can yer hossie do the dog
at the BIG PIG JIG,
do your wings have feathers
& how's the catfish down there?
~~~
you live on a grid that's static.
that's a tough krill to swallow,
but we can fold our sheets.
sweet meat.
black bread.
fat back.
you try to sink,
but treble hook set.
the shortest distance
to lean two joints
is the spine –
snap back.
the grounds float to the bottom,
the fat floats to the top,
reduce heat and simmer.
WHAT'LL THE SQUIDS INK?
TELL EM TOMORROW
AT THE TOE OF THE SOCK.
like even caribou lose their footing,
but BOY YOU TRIPPIN.
put your mouth to the spigot:
say STEEZ.
say SHANKEE.
gargle and spit.
you wanna move up,
i wanna throw down,
our lights out,
we stay lit,
but what we need to hear
is the whole rest.
~~~
MEASURE OUT YOUR WORDS IN STONES
AND PREPARE THEM FOR THROWING.
CARVE OUT A HOLE IN YOUR SKULL
AND EXORCISE YOUR DEMONS.
CRUMPLE UP YOUR MAP
AND SWALLOW YOUR COMPASS:
THE LODESTONE WILL DISSOLVE IN YOUR BELLY
AND PUT YOU ON THE PATH.
~~~
Follow the will o’ the wisps
into the bog
where no man speaks,
but only signs.
You can find me
drinking wine
out of goblets
in the top of the jungle gym,
perched up like a guinea fowl
on a branch full of roses.
Without a stock pot in sight,
I got the switch
of the whippoorwill,
forked as foretold.
been searchin this dessert
for the good news
in all these marginal comets.
traded in the fatta tha land
for the crème de la crème
& the chicken pot pie.
been munchin on
these four leaf clovers
off a silver dollar platter,
my wooden spoon in hand,
i shoyu
i moo shoo
i cock a doodle doo,
and when the good word is spoken –
i stomp, stammer & spit.
~~~
Stop kicking that mackerel
and the hen that doesn’t lay,
Keep your ears to the ground:
There is no screen between
your self and the projection.
On the icy exoplanet,
the atomic clock ticks faster,
the tao minute hands skipping seconds,
A tractor engine hums:
If not now, then when
I was led down into the rabbit hole,
the birds and the bees
turned to vultures & hornets,
but I put together the puzzle,
one piece at a time.
Like being stranded on an island
and realizing it’s a whale,
been waving my saint stick
like a sodium flare,
and when I was given a gold sift
to drill deep for oil,
I coughed up a lung
and ground down
my teeth to tic-tacs.
Enough with the watermelon
and the roundabout tuna.
I just saw a chicken hawk
swoop down
and snag a wharf rat
in that there gutter.
This is not just the meat,
but the potatoes too.
~~~
On the tram that runs from
here to there,
the pot bellied pig
turns tricks
on a slab of limestone.
When
stalactite
meets
stalagmite,
All I have is this
abstract potato salad,
caught in between
two tongues.
Now that the going is easy,
I got baptized down in
an irrigation ditch.
Where the sidewalk ends,
You’ll find me
pushing out air
between
the stars
and
the dew,
Bird by Bird,
’til the Duck Feathers
become Goose Down
become Swan Plume.
After all,
You have to
break some eggs
to make
an omelet,
but these yokes are
bloody beef,
cold turkey,
city ham,
greasy chicken.
Cross the street into the city walls:
pull back your handlebars and
revel. If you traced Spam roots
back to their beginning,
You’d be a plate lunch,
Musubi.
~~~
How you gonna keep em
down on the farm
after they’ve seen
Palm frond
Palm frond
Palm frond,
The meat market,
The mussel man,
The black eyed pea
tapping the croissants
and tossing the potatoes
into the bread box.
Trim off the dead ends
to freeze time,
frozen.
When the calf is gone,
Electric field mouse
come out to say:
Sisyphus come
and Sisyphus go,
But I bite down on my tongue
and hiccup daisies.
I plateau on all this kudzu –
Gimme that pigfoot.
Struttin with some barbecue,
Pass me the catsup,
Crimp the tube and
push out the paste,
until its contents
are laid out
in front of you.
~~~
i may not have a hand right now,
but i wasn’t born this way,
i stick my head out in the rain
til it softens up,
whittle down the crust
and carve out the filling,
Rat’s a chicken pot pie,
said the one-winged pigeon,
Well slow down partner,
sang the traveling gum salesman,
How’s about another
round of applesauce
in this here empty courtyard,
where the silverware clanks
in every open window,
the sound is mostly monogamous,
you know it well.
At quittin time,
put the pasta in the pot
when the cows come home,
You like it like that?
Well, I am the beekeeper,
so I drink to the trees,
corn liquor,
white lightnin,
honeysuckle wine,
these grapes are ripe for pickin
but i gag a maggot
inside a rotten peach,
to be a super drupe –
a nut
a fruit
and a seed,
at the same damn time,
a squeezebox
in the canopy nest,
a bellowing bandoneon
in the eye of the hurricane,
a particle of dust
bathing in a pool of photons.
~~~
When shit hits the fan,
Time folds over on itself
Like tennis shoes.
I’m a growin boy.
Know what I mean,
Butterbean?
I got the crapshooter’s blues.
No moon
No magic
No water
means no wells.
I flip my eyelids inside out
and Dumbo.
I put my mouth to the spigot
and Spray:
Djangly cheese.
Dear God,
Make me a bird,
So I can fly far,
Far Far Away From
the moonlight that passes through
this cloud of ice crystals.
There’s more than one way
to pluck a buzzard.
Like a cat that
drags in every dead thing that it finds,
I am the owner
with runs in my nose.
I primrose to never
spiffy long stockings.
That’ll peel back
the paint on your windpipe.
I always ends up playing a shepherd
or a fly on a camel’s back.
I tries to go with the flow
but alls I feels is the undertow,
and the everlasting crank of the eternal hurdy gurdy.
To soak up time,
Spongled.
To be suspended in it,
Stumped.
To keep track,
Taken,
I tip the scales
and the walls come tumbling down.
~~~
HONEYSPIGOT,
I open up my flower and spit:
STICKY ICKY ICKY.
I can do it with my hands tied.
AM IRATE?
a worm digger.
AM I KNOT?
a nut cracker.
T H I S F I G ,
I open up my flower and spit:
YODELAYEEHOO!
This is a brinicle forming.
STOP.
I HAVE TO SPILL THE BEANS
& BELCH OUT THE TOAD:
IT’S NOT ALWAYS THE SAME SOUP,
AND THE STORY IS RARELY THE SAME.
THIS IS THE RED TIDE RISING,
THIS IS THE LIGHT FROM A THOUSAND BIOLUMINESCENT SHRIMP SCALING UP A MOUNTAIN,
THIS IS THE SOUND OF TECTONIC PLATES SHIFTING,
THIS IS THE SOUND OF A PARAPLEGIC’S LEGS STRAIGHTENING,
I open up my flower and spit:
HOT DAMN & HELL YEAH!
THIS IS THE SOUND OF GRAVITATIONAL WAVES BREAKING,
THIS IS THE SOUND OF MATHEMATICAL JARGON SPEAKING,
THIS IS THE SOUND OF OUR ATOMS COLLIDING,
THIS IS THE ROAR OF CICADAS BUZZING,
I open up my flower and spit:
STUTTER ME FOOTSTEPS.
THIS IS THE SOUND OF A SACRED SHAPE NOTE SHOTGUN CHOIR SINGING,
THIS IS THE SOUND OF A MONOTONIC BULLFROG CHAMBER MONK CHANTING,
THIS IS THE SOUND OF A SALT FLAT SUPER BLOOM,
THIS IS THE SOUND OF A HYDROTHERMAL VENT SPEWING,
THIS IS THE SOUND OF A MUSTARD SEED SPROUTING,
& YOU,
MUSTARD SEED,
YOU ARE
THE MOON AT ITS ZENITH ABOVE THE SERENE FLOATING CITY, DRAWING THE WATER UP FROM THE BOTTOM OF THE LAGOON AND FLOODING THE CANALS.
AND THIS IS THE SOUND OF HIGH WATER RISING,
& WE ARE THE MUDSKIPPERS,
CRAWLING UP THE BANKS,
& WE ARE THE STONE PINES
BUCKLING IN THE WIND,
I open up my flower and spit:
ERK!
THIS IS THE SOUND OF HONEYSPIGOT, HONEYSPIGOT.
THIS IS THE SOUND OF HONEYSPIGOT, HONEYSPIGOT.
THIS IS THE SOUND OF HONEYSPIGOT, HONEYSPIGOT.
& SOMEONE HEARS IT,
I DO,
YOU DO,
WE DO,
HONEYSPIGOT:
UP IN THE CROW’S NESTS
& IN THE MASTHEADS TOO.
~~~
i been settin here a long time
stuck in this misshapen form,
speaking in tongues
through a mouth full a yodel.
went to tie up some loose ends,
& realized they were ribbons.
untied the knots
& unwrapped the present:
i carve a circle around my navel
& crawl out.
~~~
just do what the fish head,
& bucket.
sink your teeth into the peach,
& pit it out.
it's time for a corn shuckin.
CAN YA EEL IT?
put it on the pizza oven.
put it on the pie sill.
let your clam silt.
let it sand box.
let her ice cream pearl.
IS YOU ROLLIN?
cause i might knead.
CAN YOU REALLY TASTE TIME?
to be tasted.
let's starve out all over again.
in a multiverse of bubble machines,
i was into the banana moment,
WHATEVS.
this is a worm hole.
WORM.
your grain can't steep,
so ima mull mine.
ima slaw.
ima pitch yeast,
slow motion for me,
the honey combs on trees.
they flow like water.
they sow and they sow,
until the well dries up.
~~~
the morsel of the story is the end so
LOOK BACK AT IT.
like how could i fernet
my flash out to date?
pull out the lettuce,
APHID,
i been tryin nutella:
CHECK OUT THE TANG.
i just wanna tick,
drop the line,
let it sink,
reel twice,
then bait.
i go to tie lace
but im not snailin you out a this one.
the seed's in the chicken,
the fruit's on the bone,
CANDY PAINT DRIP STAIN,
I GOT A MAUVE TUB:
BOOK, this is the tart
where you & i fryin pan.
laundry bag, you ain't a mirror.
mirror, you ain't a towel.
pillow, case.
nah, you dintin.
you dintin even know it.
like i have no shelf to hold.
on a scale of one to ten,
DO WE HAVE TO USE A SCALE?
a symbol
is a symbol
is a symbolon
is a shard
to tuck
in your tummy:
twenty sausage biscuit.
u speak of burnt bridges,
but we can float boat –
by building a stove
from the flame up.
~~~
you can spell my tongue
by the way i roll it.
i don't know when
but i say WANNA COME?
i feel good
i feel great
i feel like
fryin it all over again,
but i don't grow these peaches,
i just pick em.
why waste time fishin
when you got an antenna?
PENNIES MAKE DOLLARS
but if we only had a nickel.
WAIT.
what's this WE SHIT.
what'll the ducks lay when you leaf?
what if this bidet sprays in my face?
i mean can you please
TUNE THAT DOWN
a whole step more but
MO TURNT UP
mean you gonna hafta
TURN UP MO.
it’s just that you can't bake a chicken
outta one soup
& broil it in another,
so let’s just let every wing fall into its plate.
i mean whatever washes into the cave
is fine with me, but there's no hair to grow
in a cul-de-sac.
~~~
can the wave function as an electron,
be divided and trapped in a helium bubble?
make it make it don't
spring forward
or fall back.
gut the cat
& restring the pulley.
load the potato gun.
roll me on my belly,
fill me with your
frequencies:
i want em sunny side up.
i want em scattered, smothered & covered.
i want em buttered-up & battered-down,
deep-fried & glazed-up,
tossed in sauce,
wrapped in foil,
& thrown under
a heat lamp.
the squirrel's
out the closet
in the duck district.
i hit the bottom of the sardine can:
up sprang a soufflé of roses.
~~~
if a hammer hammers
in an abandoned building
& no one nails it –
we'll burn that bridge
once we get there.
one man's ailment
is another man's tonic,
but I NEED ALL THE KELP I CAN GET.
button me up,
zipper me down,
dust me off,
ima trophy wife.
SLAP MY ASS
& CALL ME CHARLENE,
except when mounting,
catch and release.
in the place of intonation,
sometimes the glass really is cleaner.
i'm talkin about a little place called
ASK AGAIN.
when a lot
became a heap
became a hill
being
over
becoming
over
it
is the friction
between the sticks
that makes the spark.
WHO THE FUCK IS MAKING THE ONION RINGS?
check the binding.
~~~
the eye behind my eyes opened,
& the lodestone in my belly dissolved,
& the fluttering swallows nesting in my ribcage flew up & out of my throat,
& as the pearls spilled from my mouth,
I stood up on the banks of the rising muddy river
I stood up on the banks of the rising muddy river
I stood up on the banks of the rising muddy river
& I walked out into it.
~~~
I’m as happy as a clam
in a gulf of beer,
Fit as a whistle
in the pneumatic tube,
I’m just a droppin these breadcrumbs
while milking these utters,
I’m a one trick pony
and a well hung scallion,
A master of all trades
but a jack of none.
The fact of the matter is,
The Big Rock Candy Mountain
served up a Piece of the Pie,
I never touched the stuff,
said the Peppermint Man.
5 plates a pigtails,
I ham hock it up.
Pickle me this, Elmer Fudd,
The Marvin Paul Melvin:
A can of beenie weenies
and a bottle of gin,
A riblet sandwich
and a Colt45,
Sittin on a church pew
and cuttin up a rug.
Straight as an arrow,
stiff as a board,
Straight as an arrow,
stiff as a board,
straight as an arrow,
decay.
decay.
decay.
decay.
decay.
decay.
decay.
Garden sheer me, Fizzle Twix,
I’ve been prunin crepe myrtles
upon the crest of the wave,
Heliotropic banana stand,
i boil my noodles
til they stick to the wall,
al dente –
to the teeth.
~~~
i can’t jiggity jog no more,
i just pokey,
i putt putt one foot
in front of my brother
and watch my legs
sink down into the pluff mud,
then holler out:
BEAN SHOOTS,
OKRA PODS,
SNAP PEAS
WITH A SODA ON THE SIDE.
they plant their loblolly pines
in sandy soil
between a rock
and a hard place,
but i beam me up, Shotty –
I’MA WATER BEAR.
At the shit show,
I sit on the stoop
and stick my head
through the firmament,
beneath a nest of baby birds
eating peanut butter,
AM I RIGHT?
born and bred
in the briar patch,
knee deep
in catfish row,
in a sticky situation,
don’t save it for the salad,
serve me up one scoop of tuna
sandwiched between
two starched white triangles,
good googly moogly,
poodin pome,
spoon river,
spunions,
I just think i’ve reached the point in my life where
~~~
multiple roads diverged in an indistinguishable landscape, & i took them all & some where dead-ends & some were endless, but i got sick of roads & went swimmin in a river, & the river carried me out into the ocean, & the ocean carried me out into itself, & i realized that there were roads & rivers & oceans, & you could follow roads to their end, & follow rivers to their end & end up in oceans, & float out into oceans, & sink down into oceans, & swim endlessly in oceans – until you washed up on a beach.
~~~
where the fog meets the clouds,
and the glacier flour mixes with the snow melt,
we snag
our salmon
between
the boat
&
the shore,
then fillet our catch
on a patch of floating grass,
as the bears dive deep for the scraps.
where the bald eagles perch on waterlogged wood
and the inlet fills with saltwater and fish,
we jig
for chickens
unlike any other,
then pull up massive turkey racks.
in the best of tides,
we’re all that and a bag of chitlins.
if a clock ticks
in the forest
&
no one winds it, does it really keep time
& time again:
here we are in the doldrums.
~~~
When the whoop cream’s gone,
I’ll be back in a monument
with Lulu’s petals.
I’m just a millin around,
like a fly on the wall,
I’m just a poppin a squat
with these Capuchin monks,
I’m just a up shit’s creek
without a paddle on board,
Well to hell with the pure breds,
I wanna trot with the mutts.
I'm eatin my last bites of potato rain,
Watching my p's and q's
through the kaleidoscope's eye,
Leadin the bats out the chimney
with a whale oil lantern,
Ironing out this wrinkle in time
with a cast iron skillet.
It takes a while, Child,
To raise a village,
But don’t put the carriage before the horse.
MARMOT.
You were the biggest fish
in the whole damn pond,
The brightest algorithm
in the belly of the beast,
I got the one beer blues,
This amoeba jiggles:
foggy mountain breakdown,
a holler and a squalor,
that’s about a hundred aint it?
LONG NOODLE = LONG LIFE.
fop tive!
Why don’t ya whittle down yer kinlin
til yer left with an idol,
then throw em on the fire,
Poke Cake.
I shendo,
I do the little shoe
in the major port,
Left side exit through the back door
Into the deposit.
~~~
peel back your eyelids
& let the swallows
nest in your rafters.
wait for the cherry trees
to blossom,
the rice paddies
will flood themselves.
when the autumn sun
hits the third eye
of the leatherback turtle,
swallow.
lay your eggs
in multiple baskets.
let the meat sweat.
let the bones blanche.
when the onion starts to ooze,
peel it.
when the garlic roasts,
squeeze.
in the Garden of Hedon,
I’m curled up under the Palo Santo Tree –
my teeth stained with wine
& my belly full a meat.