During the Coup

In the pews, boiling headless roosters.

Cornea kicked out in visionary scuffles,

those glass-stained mosaic cockfights.


Today, I’ve come in my cloudless best,

shadows sewn in wet petticoats, drowned

retina, lambskin, by ladles for hands.


Did you hear that His cerebrospinal fluid

clucks limply while it boils down the cones

and rods like thermometer mercury?


They’ve forgotten their colors.

Spherical bodies, tumble with the earth.

Have you seen it yet?



Meringue ankles.

I asked it to embalm the sun and all of our laws.


Chiffon digits.

I asked it to feed the starving constellations shivering in celestial gutters.


Clouding senses.

I asked to drink as well, to drown and hallucinate.


Improper science:

I asked for it to manifest.


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.

Geometric Armories

Lay down your arms. Limbs,

mannequins of violent angles.

Shrapnel nails. Plastic smiling.

Chests twist in Mobius smoke

pale as cigarettes. Addicts for

throats like the Old Testament.


Parallelogram claws intersect

intention with a perpendicular

pastel. Its softness cracks like

china. Roundness to tectonics.


The chips tingle ice. Isosceles.

Dishes shake at sixty degrees.

Why should we see sharpness,


shapes where colors could flow?


Drink analytically. I’d rather cut

your hands than calm the stirring.