The Brooklyn Rail

Unbewusste Orte

One likes to dance,
another needs to

tighten her wheel.

Every moment
is innocence.

They carry those little
packages behind them.

Shit is earth.

What motivated
“Machine Gun” Kelly?

Certainly not poetry

in that battered past.

Wisps of notes.
A wisp of a girl.

 

Feuilles Tourbillonnantes

Now I’m away from forgiven
the netted mastery slides weekly

on, offended robotic slur
presage Rommel inveterate clutch

shinsplint ideogram
Malbec gelding

you land on a silver

crash aflow with life’s

hum in squawks.
I’m liberally hung

to fry all time.

But you so bootifal.

Christ, thought he was

gonna stifle himself.

Cold jones it.

Running this badge

of security a fall

time. And you’re

with me, so no excuses.

This merits hand-held.

Thank you, kind

protectress resounding

exclamations of

harbored ecstasy.