Let the monks sing
proverbial food on the brink
a song of blustered English
hot bricks in head.
The organ replaces the pom-pom.
The icebox contains a heart.
What's under the bustling wig what's packed
Snub-nosed preachers mumble
Our lips part like the red sea
Breakthroughs must be broken
Life is not a double feature.
The sun is deceptive.
After the leaving I shaved my head, my words squared off. I shaved my head.
O the pure products, the joy of America consists in less plumbers,
Evening performance of toads.
In dialogue I embrace you
The convention of professional insulators met
Trees squeezed the road. Elevators ascended and descended never meeting
The nightwatchman fanned the cards for solitaire.
Big bag of tricks in the glove compartment, loose metal in the shoe.
Yoke of plenty at some point the jaw builds a bunker.
What some call accidental we call eggs
When hair covers the face like a tent of images.
O, brother we are lost in a room with fluorescent lights
Our wet fingerprints refuse to dry.
There's always too much blood under the bridge.
Stone lion with degrees of divinity.
Noon is a pet language when the barn makes arrangements with the fiddler
Heaven is a stage full of bears
Noon is a parking ramp. Honeybee colloquy.
Beauty shrinks as father leans on gray marble
The butchers cannot unite under their one tenderhook.
Over there the saints lay down with their viscous lambs
This is combat baby. The burden of proof rests on the city with its
The control group consists of bent spoons.
Language is not a chauffeur.
Night is a knock-off of day.
History is a baby coughing in the wind.
I carried the river on my back and it broke into ten thousand splendids.
These poems were written after reading: Haze by Mark Wallace , Music or Honesty by Rod Smith, and Ring of Fire by Lisa Jarnot (among other works). I couldn't sit still with so many multitudes running through my head. I was also tired of teaching existentialism/individualism. Let the miracles come from the multitudes for a change.