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Jean-Paul Pecqueur

Real Cyclone 






From the cricket’s tiny bells   To great


balls of fire   Under the flight


of the swift   The light


of Polaris   Zippity rebop  


Captain fantastic   The hetero


geneity of the spirit    Becoming sonic


Firing circuitry    The tangible city


Oh city    Place a Nashville


somewhere on a grassy hill


in Tennessee    Spot a warbler in the palm  


Follow a digital star chart    A map


redolent with rosewater   The Atlantic


materializing off to the left    Laughing


Gulls laughing on the shore










To notice is to promise    Take twenty


per-cent off your last thrill


and testimony    Air-conditioning  


and chill bombast     Distracting moments      


Accents    Futures converging    A city


is a feeling    It brews its own weather    


It accepts boys named Sierra     Everywhere


the ordinariness of trauma     A child


howling as the crowd stamps it feet


Applause     Cigarette papers stuck


to suede shoes     Maple leaves stuffed


in pockets    In pant cuffs    Enough


trouble for thousands of people  


Enough people for one helluva bash 













Everywhere laughing   Day


campers chanting   Sponge Bob


Square Pants   And stomping


and clapping   Spondee   Come out


Come out wherever a star


Behind the sandblasted seawall


Relieved by starfish   By conch whirl


and stylized squid    A Coney island


of the ear    A penguin dance party   


of the mind    A warm bench


on the boardwalk and our bodies


liquid amber    All bodies absorbent   


The spirit buoyant   We leak saline


and say the taste is good    










Endless summer fabric softener


The smell of excess    Not the filth


but the flower    Neon hibiscus


& butterfly bush    Both before


and forever after    Beholding again


with a ruined eye    One end


an apostrophe to passing feelings   


The setting of numerous fires


in the high dry grass    Of immaturity


Or flaring up in the form of idea  


Or lingo to approximate the soul   


A critique of culture presupposes


a culture to critique    Why blather   


I’d rather    Or then again I’d rather

















Motive is not method    Can be


a candied mouse trap    Rat


ional molotov fruit salad daddy   Oh


Might even be epipsyche on its cyclone


of tears    Real cyclone    Hologram


of polar bears    Pearlescent nail polish


calling forth twenty-five pounds


of memory hammer    R.E.M. singing


the end of the world    The imagination


is never enough    It needs another   


Another spider monkey    One


more moth the size of a dinner


platter    Neon hibiscus and butter


Hairy diamonds    Wings with eyes   










One method    To be marigold   


A list of simples as loopy excess  


and fidelity to the future    Creature


to creature    In the first light


of failure    To brew a sonic measure   


Storm watch wolf-whistle    And spider


in the lilac    In the dry grass inscrutable 


To rise up rose hip and decline   


Then moonshine     To saline    Slip


stream liquid amber    To notice Sierra


The imagination must be another  


Must cool breeze    Or odd indigo


Must buoy the spirit    Atlantic Pacific    


Warble of waveform    The sensible idea 















Shoveling clouds and sorting


clouds    A glut    Of clowns and sky


blather   A spot of color


on a pine snag black


from beetle and fire and covered


in vultures    Of culture I’d rather


rhinoceros   I’d rather slipknot


and sight rhyme    Failure


and fall higher    A postpunk


fanfare for the professional mourner


Endless summer    Ordinary trauma


The imagination is another          


A warm beach    Strawberries and song


A flare up    Hairy hairy diamonds










With wings for eyes    The idea


of the dragonfly   The fire


fly and laughing gulls laughing


Or lingo to approximate lack


of control    To practice motive


Bouncing between cumulous


and cummerbund    One end


of a habit   A star chart    Fidelity


to the spectral affect   The spirit


still buoyant    Still crazy


gluing plastic and the hastily


made bed    An apostrophe


to epipsyche   To the wolf spider    


of Brooklyn   Hills in Tennessee

















Ideolectual fantasy     Savagery


and sing-along   Come out


A glut     The book of nature


Creature to creature we stingray 


We forever after    Then drunk


and asleep in the doorway   


of a sunny void   A vacancy   Slight


ruin of eye    Don’t overthink it    


Sonic fragment    Dot dot dot


And then marigolds and fanfare


for the procession of warblers


For the cyclone of colors


that is becoming a feeling


Real cyclone    Abandoned plot 










Ripe figs in a vacant lot    One end


of summer    Another dim aura


and present shape of the future   


Rationalizing critique as culture


Molotov    Memory hammer    Vultures


on a jag    Pine blackened by oil


stick and melted tire   Celebration


of mimetic failure    Drunk and singing


in the gutter    Down to the river  


It’s the end of the squirrel   Adieu


gnome wit   Ciao    Blood hound   


The whatchamacallit    Not the filth


but the flower    Has fled town


Uh oh city city    Into the street   












Point and counterpoint    Cocktails


and Khlebnikov     What matters


What flight    From the lilac buzzing


From the idea of the sun    From fear


and from promise    Under the light


of Polaris    Day campers chanting


Fruit salad     Barn dance    And laughing


Wherever a clownfish    When


ever a star    Soon enough trouble


Chair leg wobble and folderol


For each fedora that is missing   


From fabled love to space craft   


We trip up     Omnipresent


reset button    Catalogues of cloud   










And then marigolds     The sensible


embodiment of an idea    


The idea of flowering     The howl


of a wolf spider in the mouth


of a berry    In the face


of our one good sun    Fidelity


to each passing feeling   


Idiolect and image    Savagery


and song    Both strawberry


scented hookah & a legendary love   


Don’t overthink it    Where is it


we arrived here from    Which gap


did we skip across    War craft


or love boat    Mystery still abides
















From great balls of fire    To the idea


of the sun    To practicing motive


in a cloudless pause    A critical vacancy


Or lingo to approximate sky


and soil    The imagination distils 


its own fidelity    From the book


of nature     To immature facture    


Rapt action in the postpunk hoedown


Of vulture I’d rather barn dance


Or silkscreen waveform inscrutable   


I’d rather babble rap rose hips


than opine party line    Khlebnikov


as clownfish    Flaring up in form


Wish fulfillment    Butterfly bush










The private lives of fireflies    Satellites


betwixt dim stars and style wars


in place of thunder    In the gutter   


A bluebell    A strut of brocade   


A chaos of cadence and crickets


ecstatic for jasmine    Major affirmation


of lyric testimony    Or epipsyche


on its cyclone of tears    Real cyclone


Honeycomb and gummy bear   Image


and affect    The magic of   Of cloud


To howl   Wolf spider powwow


in the local greenhouse    In back


of the ideal    A black squirrel    Purple


finches    The light and aimless air   

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