Bedbugs in the castle again.
Grass grows over a grave.
Someone’s great aunt graduates
From Duke University.
She is called The Mastermind.
Laugh tracks in the castle again.
Disaster appetite occurs with nonchalance
Braining pigeons on the way to codified bodies
In the history books.
The tiny forest shrinks into mere minutes.
I stand thusly, trembling in plastic shoes.
Overgrown buttons stipple.
An omen occurs out of sight.
One more sour melange and I’m good for the day
In the wilds of posthuman appendages.
Bus schedules are the apex of romance
In a galaxy of exhaust doing its hot best.
A one-room schoolhouse teeters on the brink
Where I contemplate awful math,
The airplane full of ocean,
The hidden infrastructure girding it all.
I begin breathing in order to swoon,
The air two parts dirty hands.
Drugs for airplanes, airplanes drug across dirty sands.
Civilization drizzles from stars and seeds itself.
The best we have to offer proffers lawful
Scenarios in which you may shoot a human.
Scooters idle outside the temple,
Scoring a common dream of disdain.
Fog rousts the worst of them,
Tilts a pit of flies
And an ineradicable time stamp.
Lint comes and goes
In a trapping heliocentric whorl
And full of double-sided babble.
A thousand skeletons come
Into the light
To share tales of fruit
And new skin,
Garment factories in rusty dust.
Later we’ll all get together
To read aloud
From an illustrated book about horses
Famous for running very fast.
In a system of credit transfers
I’m susceptible to the noise
Of a storm of zeros. Some say
Some day we’ll have enough.
Enough of what — spinal shadows
Pass over us rooted to the ground,
Below ground the solemn ripping begins.
A system of noise follows a barge
Droning into a new dialect
Instituting recursive shunning.
Familiar sun leeches color from everything.
Only a raptor can stand not blinking.
Brad Liening lives in Minneapolis. He is the author of Death Salad, available from Schism2 press, and he can be found online here