Lines for the New Year
Consider the light, how it offers itself. To the roofs, to snow
as done-for as the shoelace in a dog’s mouth, to the best of
best of best
Of parties of conspiracy theorists—carrot spears and spooning—it might come to this. Is this.
No one respects especially or much. Not. Cousins on a couch, arms of the
king of anguish, extended
Of what I am,
forgotten.
And what is it you’re trying to tell me with your locked eyes?
Simmer and miser and rise
It’s my throat you’re kissing, your hard-on, or whatever to add to my cup
Foamed and fingered and free
An election year. O. Dust mites spin on guilt-ridden heat. Dire guilt. What’s an eye spot? An eye-sore, a
sunspot, piss pot
A new?
I’m ready to cannibalize my own past. Must mean I’ve no love for myself or for narrative.
Skating’s a dumb circular joy. Hi! More sweet cake, wet ache,
weak hate
Could I eat a tree?
Dad’s new girlfriend’s fur and lips in salmon, tangerine, egg white,
walls
Forgot to say goodbye to her
The Cuban singer’s vacant spouse watches TV in the Home
Word “home’s” got sickening mouth-feel like backing into a sooty
ice-bank
Lock-eye, stop staring. Do you expect me to help you locate yourself?
What’s on the other side of that hedge? Consider the hedge. O. Take me
To the pool. The spigot, pig’s gut, parrot rot: This kind of readymade know-how gets you nowhere
but
That’s better than all your
Stories set in funerals and airplanes
together.
