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Copyright Jordan Davis.



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wThursday, April 20, 2006


1862

ALONE IN AN ADULT BOOKSTORE

When I sit down at the piano
There's weather on the interstate,
The white smile
Comes from a shaved place

They're alone in an adult world
Without any tokens or mystery plays
And nothing to savor but ricochets

He turns to look
And trips on his shoelace

*

Now the child
Tips the ottoman

He is a pterosaur
Calling "on your marks"

I myself
Recite bluelines
For a fibrous
Divot

*

I want to reach out
And engulf the ambassador
In a marshmallow

Make payable to
Written all over my face

Aspiration
Versus actual connection
It's all real feeling
On the burning hillside

*

Clanking, with brisket,
I perch on the receiver.

It is a quid. Please.

Neighborly ass,
Sit yourself domino
And I'll lend you
A parable.

*

Gum-wrappers the presbyter dappled
With nothing very shocking as light
Radiate from the collage heart.
The bishop's been to college.

If you'd seen what I'm saying,
You wouldn't've smiled quite so...

The barman composts an essay
On medieval Irish lyric,
The figure of the albino crow,
Jocoserious asides.

What'll it be boys, lights or darks.

*

The tarpit opens
Like a cardboard box.

A grey lapin emerges,
No illusionist in sight.

*

Would you like to come in?
It's a masturbation show.

Oh, I already know how thanks.

Her filmy dressing-gown flutters,
A mis-sprocketed film sputters
Behind a barely moving curtain.

Four bored women on lawn chairs.

*

The rifle range is making popcorn,
The highway's backed up six miles --
Hazmat or wide load or something
Jackknifed for a crate of chickens.


posted by Jordan #