november climbs downhill laborously to december

the feathers are piling up and pulling out
the ice is slipping up and sliding out
the snow is fluffing up and mushing out.

edgar allen poo

the bells
the bells bells bells bells
yells yes yells no,
snow caves shoe aches and pains
back cracks and hopeless smash
insect drizzle and
shaolin skunks fun running amok
do you hear what I hear?
the ghost of christmas past participle,
invented by a canadien thought to be an american making
long distance short distance, and giving me high bills.
jesus christ was smart to die.
jesus christ was stupid to resurrect.
jesus christ had a middle name.

jesus H christ
jesus helliphant christ
the long lost descendant of hannibals elliphant helliphant.

chattanooga poo poo

ski down the hopes
of a rheumatoid arthritic
hominid, a walking talking fast
chewing, klondike eating, hibernating
, seeing, believing in god almighties last night
waking up dreaming of eating turkey sandwiches vociferated
with ant carcasses and juicy cranberries, sieved with
Ongston's last bones.

frazzled white nights are falling slowly in a wind
whipped solar system, when the end
of the season is meaning
that it will be piles of mints
. the whole candy store.

co si co sar

the tsar of finer things,
is the tsar of old finger nail clippings
, drenched in a sweat stained suit of tyrrany,
the unblemmished king swings a pneumatic
tray of clippings freshly cut from the living
hands of the undead merchants. the harvest
of today is the history of yesterday, the beta
the carotine, the horror at having to watch
the stock brokers scratch their fat necks
with out too much animal on their fingers. where?
do? they?all go?

I envision my future careear, forged
of the beta the carotine, the chitin, the ant in
every one of us, the echnid , the piece of never
again, never stopping, never saying , always always
it drives me mad. think of the
sound of a bionic knee making contact in the spring morning with
a thousand pound bag of finger nail clippings. the rupture
of the bag and the
flood across the linoleom floor....
the noise of money.

stall_lines

the first time you shooed up; this time.

you, who
are as stupid
as salt licks frequented
by the appliance people, who
assays like rythims of bannana peel clock
pendulums, does the simmering pot cook up
and serve to the ambitions of tiger eyes
over there, the toaster is your mother
and the flypaper dispenser is your
father and the little brother
you always professes was
more garage door opener
is the cool-air only hair
dryer, plugged in in the rain
and when it rains, it pours, unless it snows, then it stays.
Till the 15th of april, apparently. , but only
if you are a french toast maker appliancer, plying
the trade room floor in a 120 volt pair of
dustbuster shoes,
stinking like the one who's mother, so full
of ambition, is a trashcompactor,
only going compact, retract, compact, retract,
compact and crack the plastic networks of solidified ferns.

redone

all I know is
that the snow is caving in
to the places that river mussels service
and wheels dont turn us out
into the sheets piled high in overcrowded streets.

dead animals on the ice

and wouldnt it be nice,
if on a quarter, for a quarter
century appeared,
not santas slaughtered eigth reindeer, dreary,
imagery at night , for sugar plump american
children to be a jigglying pile of fright,

. instead, lets mint us some
money.

pilons in shape,
with eagulls
fighting seagles
over dead animals on the ice

state of the union

the modern novel has been here
and gone, dissolved into shovels
of slovel shaped boogers.
now they are grown FROM boogers in
a clear liquid, in a clear vial, stopped up
with cork nostrils, requiring
little active oversight, insight, or any sight at all. thus
instead of reading
one pretends to read and pretends to have cared and
tells everyone about it, of course (the
most important part of
reading). But this only
works if everyone
all at once does it
and it looks
good
for
u
that they do.

nice days

nineteen slaves line up
and the seagull stands up
to light up a cigarrette
that had moments before been staging a gunfight
now here now there down the street
with a bear pelt slung over one shoulder and
a mexican pelt slung over two shoulder and
a wise look, so as to say: hey! stop looking. I'm only
here to take your passports
and look for work at the microwave factory.