Sample Poem #2

pate trenches

Are you making mummies to standard in a kingdom of rubber tires? There was a relationship between electricity and wetness, ringing phones and boiling pasta. I was ready to spill everything I knew, armed forces bumping fences, her earlier little bell having dropped its clapper.

Dust was settling everywhere. The sunlight made it look like encroaching fur. Hollowed eyed consumers moved sluggishly through aisles, slumping barges bearing their ancestors’ neckmeat.

It was the year the hair went inside.

Gourdlike, depressive we rust in our summer chairs and like Elisha we curse the band of youths, but they are not eaten by she-bears. They call us “Shemp” and shrink to bumblebees.

“Not a man or woman in the circus doesn’t know about you!”