Hey Davy Crockett!

Eve of St. Agnes—they swam the platter like a log
Ding-dong, the poodle baron. A day-care center Thursday
and I am standing on the back porch facing sideways
Macreasa inside, dollop in the bean pot
Crispy chitlins—they sell bananas like a freeway
And spin a sweatshirt from plum juice and ocean
Saddled like a midget’s buttocks this life of ours
is really important and conforms to my warm insect
Bring me forty streetsigns, fire me a gross
of beetle sympathy and tired pancakes, to
the rictus of my emotional heartstring ruptures
and floods Macreasa’s dress with our first child
Lastly sinful like a magpie on vacation,
How many rabbits can hide in a desk-clerk’s hair?
holding two lizards like drumsticks or music
clogs and clots the plain ham of our life together
And like Jesus at the cycle-barn, and Pharaoh eating stone
I bought a shirt with a timber locket stolen from a telephone pole
Ruptured rubber gadgets sprinkled on my neck and
pulled-out backbone lay down on plastic
hairpiece dreamed especially for Mother Earth

Published by Curt

I am a poet and journalist and so on amber so forth in rows magnet.

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