Midsummertime

Bid gingerly,
and bide rightly

*
Metal doors swollen shut,
binding,
have to be throttled then
kicked open

*
Had the adequate
points of
identification so now
the state
approves me---tho I
still owe it a list
of which body
parts I'm willing to
forfeit once
the whole's
defunct

*
Bury me in a stone
fruit compote---

Amended cameos,
qualified pleasures of
merely circulating

*
Can't tell anymore if
cell phone's
ringing or not since
its buzzing's become
a frequent feature
of my thigh's
pocket-spot

*
Full-tilt, no frills brokerage

*
Think I'll just
ride atop the
errancies & inefficiencies
of my movements
SPUTTERING

*
Empire waist, empire waste,
say it how you
want, fashioner, paper-
doll deputy---

*
That likeness
a sketch in oils
on a square board
possesses its features
as I never will mine

My own face
over there

Livid ear,
muddy brow

Resolute skewed gaze I
strain toward but
can't meet

*
The patter patter
of outtakes from the deposition

(It speaks for itself, that
rusted-out charm)

Cast eyes on
connoisseurship, scudding cant,
you name it

Scour the outtakes, whatever,
you break it you buy it,
delicate flanges on the meanest words

*
I think I would work hard to please
a tarnished metal surface if it asked
me nicely enough. 'Redo, Undrln,
Italic, Open, Print, All, Save, Find,
Undo, Cut, Copy, Paste, Bold, New,
Ctrl, Ctrl.' Are those macros? They
're actions, anyway. Falling all over
myself for approval and gets called
goodness. What sad sweet stricken
keys.