Wednesday, November 09, 2011
TRASH AMERICAN STYLE #3
for Phil Cordelli and Brandon Shimoda
Was it you
Who watched the bodies open
In the chimney
Was it you
Boys!
Faces smoked out
Chimney metamorphic
Bodies opening every facet
You por ejem who watched the lungs
Sprout panchos for paralegal rain
I just got off the ship, remember, so
Who watched the spleen sprout nine
Diminishing housemaids
Not that I am keeping track
It could have been Ben
Was it you then
Who watched
Ben fall off the top of the chimney
Recreating his lung as
Particulate matter?
It was you, it was fucking you!
Who put on the skull cap, walked around
The neighborhood
Pretending to be an old man
With a pancreas sprouting a snow mound
Kidneys sprouting as far as the ocean
Concerns the chimney is a beach
Put down upon the path
Tall grasses growing over
With the past
Smoke belching where Lucifer organizes
The fan to be
The name that heralds
Worlds
One of you was proud of that
One of you watched the shin protrude
And laughed
And licked the chimney rock
Eventually had to pass through dragon souls
Wasn't it
I didn't
Recognize the mother anyway
Fitting herself sideways through the door
When something delivers
Finish it
She had a stack of plates under her arm
They were expensive, she bought them in Stanford
Or Standford, Stamford
Watch the snake coil around the dead in Stamford
Watch the urine ooze from the eyes of the dead in Stamford
It will be a glazed doughnut
On sale at the A&P
The clerks hanging blue leaded blankets
Over the booze
Bought three apples and three lighters
Boston Chicken was open
At my worst
I was rotisserie
Turning and turning, who had to call medics
It wasn't embarrassing exactly
Out of my mind
A slice and punctured the dormer windows
With it horses plunging white waves
Told you that
With a paddle
Was more like you or whoever shaved
Just the top of your head
Monk or male pattern baldness
I couldn't get you up
You were both wearing tennis shoes
It was uncomfortable at the table
You wouldn't wake up
I had to shovel food onto your shoe
Hoping you would walk through the gates
With a light touch
Into the woods
Vetch comes
Into focus
Purple crown
Bees everywhere in the up to the head
We drove down there and immediately turned around
We were looking for drums
Snakes' urine
Figures frequently into the ponds
You missed
Bodies opening garden things and cooking
Things protruding from the shin
Laughter and smoking wood
Hearts opening flower things and book things
Could have sat but one of you started
Opening stains of communitarian black
We were close enough to Picketts Ridge
To walk
The rest of the way
for Phil Cordelli and Brandon Shimoda
Was it you
Who watched the bodies open
In the chimney
Was it you
Boys!
Faces smoked out
Chimney metamorphic
Bodies opening every facet
You por ejem who watched the lungs
Sprout panchos for paralegal rain
I just got off the ship, remember, so
Who watched the spleen sprout nine
Diminishing housemaids
Not that I am keeping track
It could have been Ben
Was it you then
Who watched
Ben fall off the top of the chimney
Recreating his lung as
Particulate matter?
It was you, it was fucking you!
Who put on the skull cap, walked around
The neighborhood
Pretending to be an old man
With a pancreas sprouting a snow mound
Kidneys sprouting as far as the ocean
Concerns the chimney is a beach
Put down upon the path
Tall grasses growing over
With the past
Smoke belching where Lucifer organizes
The fan to be
The name that heralds
Worlds
One of you was proud of that
One of you watched the shin protrude
And laughed
And licked the chimney rock
Eventually had to pass through dragon souls
Wasn't it
I didn't
Recognize the mother anyway
Fitting herself sideways through the door
When something delivers
Finish it
She had a stack of plates under her arm
They were expensive, she bought them in Stanford
Or Standford, Stamford
Watch the snake coil around the dead in Stamford
Watch the urine ooze from the eyes of the dead in Stamford
It will be a glazed doughnut
On sale at the A&P
The clerks hanging blue leaded blankets
Over the booze
Bought three apples and three lighters
Boston Chicken was open
At my worst
I was rotisserie
Turning and turning, who had to call medics
It wasn't embarrassing exactly
Out of my mind
A slice and punctured the dormer windows
With it horses plunging white waves
Told you that
With a paddle
Was more like you or whoever shaved
Just the top of your head
Monk or male pattern baldness
I couldn't get you up
You were both wearing tennis shoes
It was uncomfortable at the table
You wouldn't wake up
I had to shovel food onto your shoe
Hoping you would walk through the gates
With a light touch
Into the woods
Vetch comes
Into focus
Purple crown
Bees everywhere in the up to the head
We drove down there and immediately turned around
We were looking for drums
Snakes' urine
Figures frequently into the ponds
You missed
Bodies opening garden things and cooking
Things protruding from the shin
Laughter and smoking wood
Hearts opening flower things and book things
Could have sat but one of you started
Opening stains of communitarian black
We were close enough to Picketts Ridge
To walk
The rest of the way