ANGLING DINNER
BUCKETS OF
BRAWNY
MELANCHOLY FOR
THE CHAIN
PACKAGE
by Zack Sternwalker
In the days our studies helix dives free gleaming its spirit to the lost lip hill of an opened stoplight coin.
The ice cream shop gloats of a serious groin up to the power of a ghost.
The thigh in the barrel of a loose-winged gut the rail in the tourniquet of a bakery for speed.
We thirst to sink deeper into speed but our hunger never ceases.
Hat in the news we feel the drifty spirit wetten and clowns sideways towards the winterized foot of a waiting room toilet.
Just a love roof this pale earth and dabs with a sleepy moon to citrify it. Even the towering monster can't feel the furnace peel his own shirt open.
To be a fitted piece of jeans and come down out of a well for a child in the last hour. In a movie by the desert where the faint manure opens up to check your vulva.
To gift the shampoo grimace of a left-lobed leprechaun and heal to be the muddy blue banks of the pictures of my windows.
The save through roams its bruise like tear boils of stripped down backyard belly.
Knives smiling in the tall closings of a ribbon's opened eye.
Fireplace gravel gives a left nudge in the lifted speaking eyes of a damsel's or a hurt dog's tire.
Rub the used dart side on the telephone logos past.
The saintly cheetah is the ghost of itself.
Your skating heart in the closet of the world with the world at our feet.
Lips in the crutch swings of a golden hammer with its pants in the same city as a biography.
Ears beckon is that a stethoscope in the world or the rain in the bottom of a staff's coin sleeping?
To be the light and hold the noise and give the noise the father standstill hands over hammer calls.
The mother of a mother goes into the eyes to pee.
Hearts wedge under baseball fabric to borrow watercolor's rays.
Angel lice is the king's code call in hell.
The ghosts for they are crisp with the cool mouth of a refrigerators soapy palm against the window while the crutches angle on some wet bamboo.
Loose old-fashioned human necks of soft delivered alien pupils of death.
Of a life that moves around even for our children to create a life among the stars.
A brief laundry sighting in the crouched magnificence of a spilled beverage for some sopped up corner's mouth.
Published on 11/18/09
