new gear

(Katie Hibner)

 

Outline for a New Mythology

1. Mommy & Daddy
          a. Mommy is a jackal not quite combed over before seasoning
          b. Daddy is a packet of mourning doves gnawing at butter cookies
          c. They rub against each other, smearing blue and pink into a dark bisque
  i. Double helixes soak the dashboard
                   ii. Mommy chunks out invertebrates
                  iii. Daddy unravels in sheep
                   iv. They whistle away the spurs, leave behind a dust of ginseng
          d. The Earth and its animals fly out of the carrot juice streaming from their eyes
          e. The people wriggle out from between Mommy and Daddy’s teeth
                    i. The people are padded with briny amulets and warheads
2. The Travesty of the Animals
          a. The people march hares into foundries so they can vacuum off their orifices
          b. They enlarge their pork shears
          c. They saddle up the turtles with inferiority complexes
          d. They nail fume hoods over the breeding grounds
          e. Mommy’s fire tubes hiss out her train
                    i. She wants to multiply the large predator stock
                   ii. She wants to disperse herself as rat pellets in their cake batter
                  iii. She wants to shatter human wrists on Daddy’s shoulders
          f. He calms her by firing up the griddle, fixing her a platter of vestigial limbs
                    i. He lines the two of them up until they are coaxial with the mattress cloud
                              1. The whales can feel their hip palpitations
3. Mommy Conceives a Demigod
          a. Mommy descends to Earth on a cloud that waters cartoons
          b. Her mask leaks through its dotted outline and she bags a minty man, a soap mason
                    i. She holds his hand through the green screen
                   ii. They pool their nodes on her rubbery landing strip
          c. Daddy isn’t mad but palsied
                    i. The rudder shakes off his moon taxi
                   ii. His censor-mist clears too early
          d. A son bobs to the surface of the shrunken head ball pit
                    i. Mommy’s hand becomes his dorsal fin
                   ii. The Earth loans him his father’s titillating Egyptian eyeliner
4. The Demigod Turns Tyrannical
          a. He doesn’t realize he is just a spoke on a rind, edged-out meat
                     i. He ravages the QWERTY keyboard
                    ii. He scalps his brethren, smearing Mommy’s name on their headlines
                   iii. He knocks off his citizens’ candy coatings, disrobes them until they are beanpoles
                               1. He clicks their jawlines back several inches, installs his own eugenics
          b. Prayers bounce back off of his tarp
          c. The animals are fenced in a limbo of buffering
          d. The people dole out mourning teams, curse through glue-clotted straws
          e. Mommy struggles to keep the people’s babies from coming out asymmetrical; Daddy smothers himself in basilisk cream
                    i. They are confined to silent seething on their paddleboat
          f. A little torch begins baking flaxseeds, tightening her belt around the Earth’s quadrants
                    i. She is the lead in a harpoon drama; the people flock to her like it’s Grilled Cheese Day
          g. She warms the demigod’s butter nose
                    i. He anoints her the maestro of his flume
                              1. She rewires it with trap doors
          h. When she bags him, the people rejoice
                    i. She acknowledges that her face is a grate in shadow
                              1. But she promises to leak proteins through her grit
                                        a. To insurrect them into holograms and children
5. Atheism & Exodus
          a. The people pin the demigod’s entrails to litmus paper, wring out its dye for manatee tanks
          b. The little torch evacuates the churches for Mommy and Daddy
                    i. The burrows boil over with thought clouds
                   ii. The atheists barter self-determination manifestos in the funnel
          c. Mommy and Daddy fixate on the torch’s striking cameo
                    i. They let the bluebottle flies gradient in
                   ii. They don’t cry
                  iii. They rinse themselves in stopbath in the corner-stalls of the people’s minds
          d. Mommy and Daddy bite off chunks of the white parapet
                    i. It becomes runny
                             1. They drink it
                                      a. It balloons them beyond their green screen, from no-sky to no-sky
                             2. The runoff still ickies the hands of the people

 

 

The Second Black Death

<div style =”text-indent: 2.3em;”> In the remainder of our database, the android encodes the tragedy of his deification, how we brushed back our marshes to fold his titillating widow’s peak. He programs a documentation of how we hammered out his flat-bottomed eyes, how we properly noodled him with omnipotent metrics. </ div>
<div style =”text-indent: 2.3em;”> How we thus let our milk walls go runny, how our landfill of used dogs, body hair, and taste bud-palettes leaked into the flagship stockyard. The resulting infection of our subcutaneous dashboard. </ div>
<div style =”text-indent: 2.3em;”> The pandemic splintering our bleach-heads. The mass-coatings of stepsister breasts into escutcheons. The oversexing of Ezekiel Bread hand puppets and vestigial limbs. The medics muzzling themselves with circuit-beaks like it was the Black Plague. </ div>
<div style= “text-indent: 2.3em;”> Afterward, he tries to dial us back together for a simulation of a community picnic. We disobey our god, preferring the secure loneliness of our bunkers, and plenty of &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;

 

 

When he finds out he’s an android…

let him revert
to his penis paean.

Gather the pocket squares
he hawks up
to show to his doctor
(even though Aetna refuses to cover
artificial intelligence).

Hide the fact that he apes
a spook
circling corporate’s sound system.

Bake him fresh
emblems           
and unleash
his brownie horses.

Rear up a church collection basket
and don’t speak
of the pencil sharpener
in his asshole.

Flush corporate’s bearer bonds from his ribcage.
Remind him that his core is where the whistle stops.

 

 

Katie Hibner is a confetti canon from Cincinnati, Ohio. Her poetry has appeared in Bone Bouquet, inter|rupture, Modern Poetry Quarterly Review, Powder Keg, Vinyl, and Word for/Word. Katie reads for Sixth Finch and dedicates all of her poetry to her mother, Laurie.

4 Responses to new gear

  1. Raymond Farr says:

    Philip, terrific poetry! Again!

  2. xtx says:

    fuckinbadass

  3. fez says:

    They’re so grand

  4. Compelling. Shared on Twitter.

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