PLANT A MOONBEAM
This remarkable mole cricket’s body is covered in hair
It’s moving its eyes
There is face paint
And there are gears under the candles like a suspension (of pickerel)
The psychology of minnows
The air is about to absorb this biological sculpture
A nest like a wig
You could have heard a pin drop
I’m not good at meditation
Wild horses, with shining legs, lead to a chronology of meaning
A police car drifts slowly past the house going one hundred
A woman starts speaking and steps out of her robe
Then there’s the dust in the shadow, like the crease of a mail slot
The next thing I know I’m holding a mechanical pencil
It’s right here, I say, but the mapmaker remains unconvinced
Cattle, he says, are easier to work with
The smell of a lake in the summer, I say, as if the body’s denatured
A transference of heat
But I’m leaving out the living (breathing) moment
The way her lungs opened like a drawbridge
A black thread surrounded by blue light
The way the doorknob often turned on its own
The tip of a knife like a series of thoughts that require no effort
The blind wing passing over the egg in each buried bulb
Little triggers, hidden in the grass
THE INVENTION OF AGRICULTURE
Just hand me a maraschino cherry
The brightest of the five murdering nympho-chondriacs
Barefoot
And how he survived by drinking his own urine
Right there under Milk Thistle
These are a few of my favorite things
Swisher Sweets
Harry Nilsson at 3 a.m.
Wet Ones smuggled in via electric toothbrush
I know these days we think airplane, and for some maybe “the Wright brothers”
Checkerboard landscapes or a snowy coastline
A small bag of salted peanuts
The airplane allowed us to kill so many
We also began manufacturing pigs, a recent realization of mine
A sin
All manner of flesh rotting
Intestines bloating beside a wall
As the flange opens and shuts in my heart
Out comes the new merchandise
The beginning of a very long ending