A reconstitution
my smoking cloud is a mushroom gun
our bridge doesn't get along with other bridges
grimace was our brother, a bond stronger
than the bridge and wild highland magic
the island avenue exit discovers herself
on the blue line, Philadelphia
* * *
we all know you involves shadow
where you (you round (you grab)) crazy you
the rest: a dirty of delish
It's me that includes a show
the sun comes up
every season anyway
at the top of the world, your breath
we have lots of Benjamin Franklins
summer's lovely, I enclosed a picture
stuffing in a problem
* * *
Our braille is beautiful, elegant
one of your station sleeps in our curtains
his slump ended on the sabbath
even if the internet is calling things differently
I heard the ninjas found religion
but their sourdough paradigm clashes
with the plaid of a country we just started
that we named for her beauty marks
* * *
the wires were barbed with another morning stomach
"fluids" mouthed the conductors, in essence: everything
we heard our child, behind us, breathless now
a stare like yours, more parts per million
it was then the greens organized in order of their halos
* * *
weeping, yeah, in my
silent open-mouth jaw-lock wet-
eye way, the lights of
Penn tunnels en route to others
less friendly and successful
we were brotherly
with one another
until the flood
(ice had covered Ninevah)
the tide-drowned harpers
there had been love there
making out with the thing
it had been consuming
the blank space, tasteless backhairs
our fevered livers ballooning
living above condition
the smiling Ivy, her perk
Dan's har, the impossibility
of his experimental season
barring androgyny
a man laughing himself awake
we should quit our jobs
and be the shadows who sleep in the train station
and change will fall like girl hair
as love wells in the trespassing public
------------
Video of the poem in an early version from back when I was fat:
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