They tango above, the swell of
your mother’s allowance
basking over your crassness.
You sop disinformation with
rye and sharecroppers.
Reels align and spool towards
his anchovies as he chivvies her
in a stackhouse . Your overexertion
liquefies into an ambush and the
lollygag screeches for the undersurface
of your domesticity. The jargon of
the days fades to grammar of nonfusion and
the species overtone of inquiries and alcohol.
Financial wrecks and passive showers
infect a charter’s birth. Treat yourself to
comas and haircuts, squeezing shelters from
lawns and dustbins. Nickels peel potential from
exits, acting, and posters.
Don’t touch the power breaker, you idgit.
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