Hungry enough to eat freezerburn I call you to
stipulate a rosary made of cheese for some of your punishments,
a crucifix made of magic for your forgiveness, and a
church made of cash cash money for your whoring vanities.
Nothing shall remain of visions created by
conspicuous gold necklaces worn by trashy conversations,
bulleted lives tromping dismal treadmills of
interactive lies pooled among deserted zoos and
childless playgrounds. I endeavor to obscure your
dramatic divination with stranded cries for angry nights,
cramming allusions about tourist attractions and lollypop phalluses into
electronic communications that become tangled and sore.
Chances for your humbled disaster vibrate with
forgotten pop music operas, syncopate with the
voluble bone chewers you see in the reflection of your eyeglasses,
in the corner of your retina, a pot-induced calamity from
panic-filled tirades, littered with clichés and
public thunder toiling in urgent oblivion where
Christmas dinners of food truck leftovers coat the
plunder of your mouth, the cynical burn of
exotropic disconnect quivering on the
drainhole of a candy cane’s curl.
You wander streets and parking lots, sensing where
earth’s ribs, formed millions of centuries past, now raise pavement,
forcing you to labor through everyday tediums with memories of
poised moments on childhood’s playgrounds, in the
locker rooms, moments of articulation that would have
barfed you into public humiliation at a prodigious age if
only you were not alone.
