steve dalachinsky & jim leftwich - 5 hams & an angel wink
5 hams & an angel wink
give five a room never ticks
which pillow describes the details
away window from birds
pigeons scalp the cough
over the wall they went barely missed
the autoexoplamsa nearly striking their glands
the long & short of it being feathers flewing
& yet still i try hard with the right foot not to divulge
my pigeon-toed xylophonic expressive soul/knotta
without success (what a deal)
the unusual link between alzheimer's & the commune cold
& what a deal we got spiritual disunity &
memory repair protocol, total
recall, Stan Musial, the Wal-Mart of the Deal, memory
sticks blink and despair, between
ritual robo-calling and senility-as-mutiny
sensibility as drug addiction missing a face
a nose the eye socket blown out the shadow lost
the insignificant molestation of DNA inside a so/what
solvent signifiers a rose is a nose is a hose is a rose
no sense of a mollusk in the pocket or on the rug
as the beet (H) oven goes on tagine stinker rocket
no tense of molest as the toes blows gloes s(o)not(a)
eat the ghost and wink the sprocket, at the behest
of Frank Sinatra, who blows his nose
washes his clothes & strikes the classic sweat pose
gone solid amazing sore did the angle
anquished ante bad poker/faced in side flush which faced with no tense
eroica as hero(in) sheeps cloths washes down anti-dope
splashes bone in antique
rinse squalid as antic heroic
erotica sad stripes maze
smoking traced the angel mush
unplucketed stars cheer dodo mamarosa plummage
plummeted off the washboard bridge grap
ate frankly birth life longing wee wee hours gulp
the beast nose sweats and the angel face clots
the beat toe swats and the angel mace slots
the eat no watts and the angel ace lots
eat no rats and the angel race rots
i munch on tate tots & realize my life has been shortened
i am short & short of breath - my angles are getting more angular
bottom bottom meets my top the feast of brats commences
the chamber of commerce snorts my lunch
bratwurst, grits and Barney Fife smuggle in a knife in a cake
i am reading Bob Kaufman in the parking lot of a Burger King near Disputanta
where Kaufman Carpets once had their headquarters
now dispersed amongst the bourgeouis duddlefuds cancerously
punkdom punctum pendu lum or plain dumb
lodged inside my referential body / lung / liver / bladder / hum / ham
december 2017
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