Infinity Why Not


Fairly agog as if party snakes

were sprung from the mixed nuts can

we arrive here as a jumbled game of telephone

a stew consisting of blended newspaper, liquefied

shapes and menacing hair. To enter true life, now,

with good hearts in our brains, a rotisserie of breasts

holding the musk of physical education,

tropical relief beams or chains of sunlight

bowing on the crotches of some of the plenty.

As if drinking wine from this silly straw

helps you better understand

the digestive system of a small, unknown animal

and if pet plus penny loafer equals stoned on liberty

admiring the cartoon squiggles on tombstones

in the tenant privacy borders

like the short coastlines in the laundromat

we are both calm and tumultuous.

Just a twang of salt on this cloud for ultimate raindrops,

awesome echoes. As driving in thick evening parades

of snowfall creates a feeling of time travel.

And if racetracks were invented by a jilted lover

thinking again and again about returning home

over a cobble stone bridge

its reflection in the branch water like a pig’s snout

and for you, me, and the third sex

who desire to be showered in party favors

this mauve beaker is 30% reaction

a forged sorcery from the prismatic light

that both blesses and defeats

the high-minded shorthand of conscious law,

blueprints for a split level igloo,

an ice burg sliding through the door asking for a towel.











Major World


Follow the path of tornado grass, there you will find your piano

and your bank box. This is how a news story begins.

A green light suddenly aglow around a beery campsite

many friends in leather jackets testified to have seen. But you can’t

rest a finger on a globe and predict demise, forecasts and probable pasts.

Instead, I’d suggest you send a gift basket of iodine salt

to the strange people you read about on a schoolless mountain.

Ask the hammer and the awl to fix you up something sexy

made of walnut and twine. Drive through the steamy heartland

of Staten Island for great motivation in getting somewhere.

Acknowledge the mediocrity forthright. Be that little drop

in the oilcan for a prosthetic elbow. Witness the evolution

of the snack chip. Demand Stoicism. Take tender aim

with your urine.


Until your past lovers have grown rickety

and glide away on their Stairmasters, don’t fold

your cards on the felt table, don’t be the depth charge

that wades on heavy chains.


Where is the national anthem and whose tuba shall bear it?

Check your radars son, it’s right on top your shoulders.











Psychic Till the End


The cold press of a soup can to the cheekbone

has sent horoscopes through my mind.

DNA flakes everywhere and I know their identities,

how many maggots are in a bushel, on a warm

road. I know when your toast is ready.  

I am withholding so much information.

In China, census takers count toothbrushes.

Utah saves a casino-chip sized daisy

from extinction. Once seven flowers

and now one hundred and sixty-three thousand.

Like pulling a cloth over something that died,

or the cloth over an important car that had been

brought back to life. My first car was given

to me by a priest. In the glove box

was only a white Roman collar

and a steak knife. These are some absolutes.

Do not stand over the red X. Beware

there is a deplorable mosquito in the village near

that crystal dome of soap inching down

between your shoulder blades. I have a dead

brother my family will not talk about.

People, we control destinies with persuasion.

Last week in Ohio they found limbs stuffed

into the hollow of a tree. In Barcelona, children

beat logs until they defecate gifts. At least

they do it with a song. What more

can one ask for? You fall to the ground.

We call the medic. The medic comes.

Eric Amling