Soapstain

SPACE HOBO

its hair’s laser array since my toy got rabies

stress blowing possibly pointy

lasers any trauma anthropomorphic, eight-legged

stars wheeze too big lipped

PEZ-faced, recycled any cardboard anthropomorphic

as our cars get trampled by wiggly tyrannosaur advertising

jar glowing corpse nursed many-tentacled

missing in the spectrum 2 inches above Hong Kong

a passing cardboard/newspaper augmented capsule:

so now the cosmos reeks of hobo

preserve primate until separated from condom

scissor exorcist, dialed after accidentally

jamming your image in photovoltaic pork

WATCHING GRASS GROW

To the folks at the asylum, not even slow grass

looks like an afterthought. Unless a large object

crushes it. Pixar is a dented dispenser, about to throw

up. The dent causes jet propulsion. Every movement

is sped up by a nanosecond. After each frame is a subliminal

blank. Mars leaving a smear right in the eye line. Banal like

the shoulders of the Kool-Aid Man. The roots of the grass

surrounding the asylum wriggle for increased access;

finding most anything accessible, thus cutting into lawn chairs,

legs, drilling through the filmy layer above the water

of the fish pond. A bolt embedded in wax fruit.

Cannot be undone, like a baptism. A future event

that will mark. The ape’s ear piercing is from the future.

The one is stuck in the other. A same sex marriage

translating into a blessing’s strange noise.

The magistrate’s forehead with thoughts happening

behind it in his prefrontal cortex sounds like an elevator.

The Walkman suits the sandwich. Levels stealing

each other’s reflections. Passing static from one

level to the next. Wax fruit is real, perfect fruit reincarnated.

Cannot be undone.

“Hear”

DECAYING MATTER IN MY BIBLE

dog belly lint and the ray gun zwing of my tooth ache’s rip cord

in the back of my Bible, a damaged plant

cogwheels in cobwebs – rust’s beautiful sound

my Bible is a can, full of exotic animals in shiny tracksuits

those evil effects are truly poop-tronic

a Q-tip matrioshka, sexy in a tableaux of movie monster mannequins

his sidecar a suicidal spoonful, the hybrid widow

returns to his mobile home – a repository of gold teeth

its Formica breathing deodorizes his

‘wish I could be decaying matter…’

SUPERHERO SURGERY AND BUBBLE WRAP

A straight jacket for a delicate sensibility. Not without visible effects on the milkshake. Sometimes, a life lived offof cue card of bubble wrap. Take your frustrations out on groin. A flea, with a tolerance to a trillion sexy tight carapaces. Skeletal wet suit and the explosion of stains,looks pretty great, like Oprah climbing into a bathtub, her body lice subsequently catching fire. In synchronized colic, doing what appeals to the stomach’s sense of smell – septic aerobics – smells, stares, flexes, like brain damage unblinking.Clack.Clack.Clack.Similar and wavering in physical gestalt, the superherobelongs to a whole family impervious to corrective surgery.