BRUCE WILLIS IS DEAD

BRUCE WILLIS IS DEAD THAT’S WHY THE KID SEES HIM

:

untouched for days

on the pavement

the white letter

from the Insurance Agent

fragments

align themselves

with longevity

instant fossils

Dawn is hot

a few giant white

seeds drifting slowly

after packing them

she repackages the Plums

a mole on her breast

a box of seconds

girls on bikes

in short skirts

speaking French

badly

brief Summer

rain

the rudimentary

tasks of the Hive

we use Fire

to change the other

three Elements

two of the Crows

leave the tree

I move the water

to the Blackberries

a Meat Flower

that likes itself

too much

from this our

whole Cosmology

our notion of the Gods

the Crone greets

me among the Roses

a Seahorse

around her neck

says it will be good

on the bus they

talk about where all

the birds have gone

dawn at the Fair

a few drops fall from

the creaking ride

Neanderthals with

metal hands

sickened bodies

empty integers

the silver door

creaks a little

before it slams

never play Chess

with a woman or

a broken finger

it changes the way

your hand thinks

the ceaseless drive

to be someone

else compels us to

an inferior version

of ourselves

to find the amusing

elements of loneliness

blue light

of the hills

the young Possum

flattened and bloodless

we argue about

pronouns

a few drops fall

then dissipate

the Bees will be

leaving with

the Polar Bears

chicks in sunglasses

eating hotdogs

while driving

the kinds of knives

we use

instead of dreams

things I saw on television

messages

I left on your phone

who told you that

and what else

did they tell you

and how did that

work out

the wind makes

the Crows jumpy

scattered about

the pulp of Plums

today you can

balance an Egg

on its end

things you left me

a vasectomy

a criminal record

in the empty unlit

fridge an Orange

I go without

my socks

the fragment is

portable

mixable

accessible

inconspicuous

durable

vague

one Crow

flies all the way

through my head

somebody wants

me to fuck

his Wife he sends

me her pictures

she’s in the bathroom

her breasts overfilling

a pink bra the hand

on her hip resting

there without a care

the Brazilian aircraft

that will carry me

flawlessly through

the sky

associative thoughts

more fluid

in relation

as antagonisms

Sunday morning

the crosstown bus

bags of cans

rustle at each turn

it’s been about

a year she suggests

you take a vitamin

the plastic bag

strapped down on

her rack a handful

of mushrooms

among the small

pebbles a few

orange leaves fall

a birdhouse

its floor rotted out

the shadow

of the mill

if you find

the right word

all the others

fall into place

one of the Crows

watching the other

Crows

the fire of

her sex against

my belly the barred

chamber I slip

into now and then

like a Thief or

an Excavator

laboratory studies show

that when not in danger

of being recognized

hence being

retaliated against

females behave

equally as aggressive

as males

identification

discrimination

comparison

metonymy

allegory

seen the fractured

empires

things are not

as they seem

nor are they

otherwise

first day of

the Shopping Season

down to

Mexican Grass

she says

Pussy Crumbs

just beyond

the reach of

the light

the Apple sags

on one side

on the receipt

from lunch

I respond to

your nasty note

a conversation

overheard

about

the Biology Teacher

something on fire

in the dumpster

melts the snow

as it falls

a few bricks

under the bricks

have crumbled

she tells me

in the dream she had

she said to her Husband

I said I’d have sex

with her if

she wasn’t religious

and of course

I’m not religious

she says of course

I say I know that

School of Blow-Jobs

versus

School of Butt-Fucking

things on television

things you said

I can’t tell the difference

girls on the radio

their blood in motel rooms

the investigation begins

we get dark

it gets drunk

the strange needs

that drive

people together

convention is not

for your use

it is to make

you useful

we walk among

the white rooms

our bodies pink

and swollen with desire

each of us

carries a plate with

our own excrement

on it

they give off

a little heat

this is how

we make

our acquaintance

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