Let There Be Light

The only pistachios
left are a damn puzzle.

And so I wait
like a goldfish

for the great ripples,
for the great nut

cracker to part the dark
clouds of silence,

for the big entrance
of the crab claw hammer,

for the honey badger to bust
out the cobra snake leather,

and get determined
like some young Indiana Jones,

for some angry worm to shout,
"I've had enough of this darkness!"

The curtains would open and
some sweet-bearded magician

would get all knee slappy
with a banjo.

This would cause the great
nut catalyst and I would scream,

"hallelujah!"

Gift

There is a lonely
labradoodleless tennis ball
in the yard.

The river is high--
a fat leather whip
to the inner thigh

of the valley.

"A wild dog is eroding the banks."

The only
movement is bone white.

"Please keep dogs out of my yard."

An effort to grab
ahold of something.

The steam from the noses
of cars as the drivers
prepare their gift returns.

And as I drive away
from a day's work,
I notice that tennis balls appear

larger than they are.

Roll on

I got a box
full of urethane.

Independents
in a milk crate.

My swiss
precision is rusted.

I'm in love
with a t-shirt

I never wear.
I swear, one day

I'm gonna
throw it all away,

but right now,

right now
it's in my bones.

Shutters

I guess,
I feel
most like myself

in the early
morning.

I wake up
probing
for my camera

to take pictures
of shadows on the wall:

the dream-
catcher
of an oak,

an ash,
the thorn-

like projections
of the ass-
end of a sparrow,

Venetian
shutters

turned horizontal
by the oblique
rays of a star,

my bones
locked steady for the capture.

[Decon]structural Tissue

Yank!

that twitch
out of
your
eye socket.

Teeth!

Just slide
right out
of the jaw bone.

Rip!

cuticles
back nervous
for the pocket-hole.

Skin!

scroll-out
the cheese
grater of right angles.

Grind!

fingers
deep into the
unarmed shoulder cavity.

Bones!

get cryptic
with the
epithelial sock-puppet.

Interregnum

False faces

in terrarium.

antlers and
horns.

Burrow,
over shoulder

eyes

resemble tiny
human footprints.

Claw structure.

Habitat:

in the hollow
of bones.

Pelvic gurgle,

pastoral stream.

Back seat
dream-mummy

probing
for the stick

shift.

The Gnosis of Unicorn Objects

Seriously,
an unsharpened
purple pencil
topped with
a purple unicorn
eraser?

You think
that would
cheer up Emily
Dickinson?

That perhaps,
the purple
unicorn eraser would
transform into
a real purple
unicorn and yank

her body
from the coffin,
or carry her out
of the cold study

of antebellum
America and into
the golden age
of stonewashed
blue jeans,
and totally rad bangs

all eighteen-
hundred and
something of her
poems bursting
from a trapper keeper?

Do you really
Think she would
dig your mix tape of
Poison and Mötley Crüe?

Would she
show-up
to your
roller-skating
party, hair permed
and lip gloss glittering

in the ambience
of a galactic arcade?