fuzzy jingles snail themselves
to a brain leave . . . munch
in cute arcs tired riffs of t.v. swamp
mutts snore under finger tips
a rush of familiars
climb the spine like pegged legs
up stairs of termite feasts
a few fresh dreads introduce themselves
over handball in the belly
hands vibrate to memories
of trapped elevators like epileptic hummingbirds . . .
ah yes . . . epileptic hummingbirds . . .
rude insects clog the pores in sweat sewers
from graceless anxiety of mother and church
an old regular jams out record feats
of front brain solos
in heavy runs of wah-wah
hors d’oeuvres of rich paranoia
sink the bowels to churn
this is the age where
the two mushrooms merge
vision inside the atom bursting
like the cells of oranges crushed
persistent woes skate the eyeballs’
frozen fear, that’s the sound
of ice caving in . . .