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Michael Schiavo

Andy’s Not Listening to Keith Jarrett on Palm Sunday

 

Selection Sunday. Neither Jesús Niño the gray

clouds—yeah I said it—that settle over

the morning agree I would not forsake

my rutabaga for your roses. Calico mind

a furry sun. Copper kettle corn-blue

eyes we could gospel all thru the political

debate I’m talkin’ ’bout the low & holy bone.

These gents here seem not to Total Recall

the Devil manages that sugar shack

down Quinnipiac we ride to roll. I’ve come back

black & gold come back necropolis.

Yo wit’ the grapefruit the sunlit manor shatter

our respectable constable for once in Acadia

National the ducks & Warcrafters

putting on the Spring. A man who supports

the junior senator for President hawks a loogie

the size of the water before me wonderful.

Your aviators obscure “the prettiest face” a quote

which I concur. Not but wolves will smash

the invisible wall a tiger rear up to defy

47 arrows flying. Maybe the aftermath

of fireworks means a thing to riverfolk.

Is never enough to mourning. Baby I come

to a conclusion for the first time the day is warmer.

The geese returning to their cousins orchestra

play for you the periwinkle hallway

color & shape the size of trillion-dollar bills

evokes that awful feeling revelation eternal

air drops from the ceiling lilac

as the young woman’s dress away from you

the war is just beginning. 1976. They are

happy now. Arrangement of my particles

smoke corrodes Odie. Bunko resolution.

Timothy Particular coaxes several guests

to quenching drink. Whilst.

A denuded mammoth looms in front of you

your chastity belt goes out the window

temperate climates accumulate

in the mirror. Lake generosity. Due in part

to the lack of diligence shown by ablebodied

bogeymen in the house the Doctor

will see no more patients ’cept they give

his dunking humility satisfaction.

The Tournament is on.

 

 

The Gold of an Ancient Fable Known to All

 

I welcome the astronauts to our

home & offer them of sweetbreads

brandy. They’re full of lizards—all right—

from a distant star one whose name in German’s

quite vulgar’n ours. Tongue. French

is the patio of rakes & rapscallions

& my did you have bacon for breakfast madam?

“Tang” the astronaut squawks his dying breath

swallow stilettos ol’ boy’s enamored with our

sexual technology. Full of pine trees float-a-dope

I offer thence the infield air dissolves

hard to anchorage. Sunday night.

Ho to the South! Big ol’ thunderhead beyond

your breasts are truly. My horizon.

Because it matters who won the Atlanta game.

Gorgeous particles of ibis surround you

this April Fool’s pecan in the bulging forest.

Fuckin’ coordinates to the chopper Pete

sake Panama Red. I find you rather butter-brown.

Get a turkey to fly he’ll beat you to the batter.

Appalling table manners aside the gorgons

were well-liked. The casualness of death.

He got the leather kind

the peppermint. Talk armada talk.

When you glow of happy things I am happy.

When you despair great snowflakes

fall around me headachy

a Colorforms cantata.

My third option moistened the stairwell I

swell into the offices of the modern

American Nazi Party mit a bucket of white paint.

CHALKEY MUST DIE

I to scrawl only to find—what—an open field

where a small girl posied by nymphs & satyrs

sat & I wanted me West Tennessee.

The whole time you’re wondering what his point

is his point is. Golden retrievers the R.V.

that good glancing flash when you fall in love

at the world’s end. The Argonauts

I meant. Great & now the colonoscopy. I tell you sweet

Slappy it never stops this omelet. I guess Boy Blue

he wanted a Farmer’s. If you keep on/up like this

the pool will fill with untold waterfowl

ready to reel your roll.

 

 

I Go into a Meadow & See the Highway Beyond

 

Undulate white from the riverbed wool

Citizen Scientist fuckin’ you up

with a knife. I collect you in the lodge

where many matters revive us to desire.

Her black penis tasted of

water fountain metal. Soda crackers

cheese & snow ’til the morning creak.

Ryan Adams ’s quit music so baby

the day has come for you to run away with me.

Hey I believe you. Hey. These are trumpets

playing in my mind right now

can you heed them? They sound like

Spaceship Earth smells. Triceratops

get into my gas tank diamond firebirds

while all my day goes high into night.

Everything is in the night. The glorious

news of your death has arrived & I just

have to say it’s sad about the dog

though in a way you at least have to

admit that Pandora undeniably real.

Beleaguered peasants. Beleaguered yore.

Ghosts again twist down ’round my ankles

bore into the starry garden grass.

Unto the coast is provided fair voyage

but once at the sea. The sea. In the night

to me my aromatherapies autumn so.

Red Rider on his pony Mr. Moonlight. Preach

the story ’bout the one guy who said to you

to you I would give everything but

it’s a secret everyone knows. Do it

another way ’til you come back around.

Sing from the megaphone to the hay bales

rousing in the barnyard ghetto by

the river then into the river then down

river to the sea. Sea become dread spaniel.

Holla. Don’t bother to break it down

just to build it up just to break it down

just to just to just to just to break it down.

It goes offline from time to time. Fierce

hippos prowl your eyes. Light breaking

east but no. Mountains. A darkness

within the outside of darkness so drenchingly

we have withdrawn to a newfangled

Winter soon there is no Spring.

Clowns in the night. Shamble to the edge

of the ring where arachnids dwell

& spin. Nothing history teaches

history teaches anything.

 



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