Labor scab, you owe me
for the drinks drunk in Hawaii
that we gave the apparatchiks
to string management from trees
Each new time I punch you
a fissure sends a gas plume
above the Czech Republic
where the ladies love my ghee
It’s just business—gluing shtetels
to excuses for the awnings
stuck with numbers of suppliers
for their music on CD
Surfers, hear me check statistics
like a lover come downriver
past the estuary pipeworks
through night’s orthopedic sleeve
Stick a man inside a tanker
and he’ll treat you like a Hapsburg
being martyred at a border
to consolidate the see
It’s so lonesome here, Monsignor
but they’ve blocked my work computer
you will find the best chorizo
under domes the churchly flee
Come and crowd my cramped bodega,
Ms. Provocatrix in pantsuit,
I’ve abandoned economics
so cassette for you is free
I can orchestrate your folkdance,
little Hussite with a handbag,
cap the oil with this nipple
and the line stops killing bream
Look Lara, I’m so splattered
with your theme inside the movie
that’s your ring down in my cocktail?
I’m pure green boy energy
In the dark I do my thinking
if this movie has an ending
if it doesn’t, feel me breathing
on your fake neuropathy
You’re no good at being vicious,
I looked younger in Peshawar.
She is foreign, with a seester?
I am coming. Let me be.
