My fingers lie tangled

in a universal hertz


unable to tell pleading

from cradling young

sounds in whirlpool


eggs. They speak to

you, as well. Create

the mouth’s angles

Lochness ellipses

and tricky tongues


so we could hatch

the proper noises:


frowns, slippery

as new waterfowl


vital as the lunar

orbit to our shores


Good Health

there is no stillness


intestinal amplitudes

hungry for motion


valleys fertile in

stagnant blood:


the stomach, soggy

with desperation


heavy with tissue

bent in red robes


footprints leading

from the throat


planting atoms

for the filling


where your mind

sips its prayers


for continuation.


How much do you think you can purify

with flagellation and broilers?


Carry through night

with a wintry guise.

Flick the guilt off

your meaty spine


with whips wet in the shrieks of lambs.

First is birth—inherently dirty.

Clean yourself.

Brush up.


Prepare those salient ribs for divine maws

with your favorite barbecue


more sucrose than home.

Chatter (Think Rabbit II)

I could diagnose your teeth as snowshoes.


I’ve never seen a blizzard bleed before,

but it’s thumped against my own skull

and forged tetanus

from cranial musk.


Spotted white, I know your throat is infected.


I’d call it water on the brain, but it’s simply

the Spring melt. The amygdala’s expansion,

Darwin’s way of summoning those hounds

through anything holy.

Mammalia is chronic.

The treatment is to speak

as lightly as the shedding.