Old Residence Roe

Venn diagrammer,

Put-down fleshpot-bitten particulars, play me the warped Uriah bluffs. Shadow and hiss.

Triumph pad,

Draw me a Cossack and hatchway bursary embryos in and out on sternum ridges. Bring me the bluffs.

White taboo clown,

Password me the caviar spotlight of that old residence roe. Handbill and plumb,

Sinner ‘74 brazier,

Bring a Peckinpah rough cut, a splatter and blush. Bring me, please, the headlamp of A. Garcia. That mud don’t play until ten after four.

Mud don’t play.

Mud don’t.

What I’m Reading:

“I don’t quite understand about understanding poetry. I experience poems with pleasure: whether I understand them or not I’m not quite sure. I don’t want to read something I already know or which is going to slide down easily: there has to be some crunch.”

— John Ashbery