sun ra points at a hamilton blender hovering
above the bandstand & just as fitfully worlds
are formed, behind the milk tents of el monte

& a yemeni dime store where all the bubble
gum's aristotelian & can only be bought by
decoding the gestures of the clerk, a woman

named crayola who's convinced that a blue
washcloth is wrapped inside a satellite dish
& it's shrouding from us a colossal despair.