When you arrive in Medellín

When you arrive in Medellín

The air is dirtier

The women have fake breasts

An ad the size of New York says ‘Sex Underwear’

The subway intercom tells you to smile

The sliced mangos come with salt

The old men are cute and wear their belts tight

To keep their pants from sliding down

Their flat, flat asses.

It’s all good, you know, in this tin can in the sky

It’s all good, you know, in this tin can in the sky.

They might feed you a funky croissant

Or an orange juice.

They might tell you what to do in case the plane lands in water

The flight attendant might wear makeup or he might be gay

If you write prose poems on the plane, you get to wear a blue button that says ‘Poet Aboard’

And if your eye mask is on the whole time

That’s okay

You will fly in mind wormholes the pilot does not yet understand...

The Pestering Senses

What do I understand? asked the eyes

The stripes on old gentlemen’s ties

The steam wisps that drift up from pies

The gauzy pink clouds in the skies

These I know and I like, said the eyes.

What do I understand? asked the nose

The scents of petunia and rose

The fresh fleecy smell of the snows

The mothball perfume of old clothes

These I know and I like, said the nose.

What do I understand? asked the hand

The stretch of a smooth rubber band

The squish of the peaches I’ve canned

The soft golden grit of the sand

These I know and I like, said the hand.

What do I understand? asked the ears

The roar of the crowd when it cheers

The snip-snip of haircutting shears

The seagulls that squawk at the piers

These I know and I like, said the ears.

What do I understand? asked the lips

The snot from the nose when it drips

The crunch of the salsa and chips

The sauce on the chicken wing tips

These I know and I like, said the lips.

What do I understand? asked the mind

I am not quite so simply defined

I’m in all of the senses, you’ll find

But I also reflect and remind

And my hunch is that I am entwined

With all of the cosmos combined

Sui generis, and yet unconfined

I’m…

“Look, skies!” interrupted the eyes

“Old clothes!” interrupted the nose

“Soft sand!” interrupted the hand

“Loud cheers!” interrupted the ears

“Yum! Chips!” interrupted the lips

Well, the mind heard the senses and smiled

And tended to each like a child

And sorted them out when they fought

But wished it had more time for thought.

Little Miss Muffet

Little Miss Muffet
Sat on a tuffet
"$!" she screamed, spider legs sprouting like black candelabras from the jellies of her blue blue eyes...

Strange & Strange

Strange and Strange met at the Strange Pool with a lunchbox full of Strange Sandwiches.

“These will make us feel Stranger than Strange,” said Strange.

“Stranger than Stranger than Strange,” said Strange.

“Is it fair to name your kid Strange,” asked Strange.

Strange had just taken a bite of his Strange Sandwich so his Strange Cheeks were too full to answer. He shrugged and kicked his Strange Toes in the Strange Pool. Splish-splash.

“What kind of sandwiches are these?” Strange asked after a while.

“Strange Baloney, Strange Bread, and Strange Cheese.”
Strange and Strange ate the whole box of Strange Sandwiches but didn’t feel any Stranger.

Levi

Levi in jeans with a revolver

Shows us where the black trumpets grow

We put them in our jeans, in our night-pockets.

You know 666 from the Bible?

It’s the devil.

It’s a computer.

I won’t allow a computer in my house.

Levi is the great-great-great-great grandnephew of Daniel Boone

My ancestors founded this country

Now it’s all gone to hell

God will clean it up again.

Three big bags of mushrooms

Sautéed in leftover bear fat

jet planed to our bellies

jet planed to our brains

svelte and hollow,

black like dark thoughts,

greasy sheened esophagi.

A Sudden Realization

“Hello, little boy! I have many dried plants

But the problem is I need them in these sacks

The sacks are small and velvet

With embroidered silver moons

See? They’re sitting in the closet with the axe.

So your job, little boy, and I’ll pay you for your work,

Is to cut the plants to pieces neat and round

Then you’ll stuff them in the sacks

From the closet with the axe

And I’ll pay you for your cutting by the pound.”

So the little boy sat, by the closet with the axe

And he cut the plants to pieces neat and round

He was working on his knees

And the plant-dust made him sneeze

And it took him fifteen hours to trim a pound.

He was there for many weeks, color draining from his cheeks

Scissors snipping ‘til the plants were cut to size

Then he stuffed them in the sacks

Brushed the leaf bits from his slacks

And lay down a while to rest his weary eyes.

“Why, hello, little boy! You have cut these very well!

I will take these sacks and pay you by the weight.”

“Good, great,” said the boy. “Good, great,” said the man.

“Good, great,” said them both. “Good, great.”

It was all good great, ‘til the boy said, “What’s the fate

Of all these sacks? Where are they sent? Where do they go?”

And the man said, “Shh,”

And gave the boy a red balloon

And said: “Now that is not a thing for you to know.”

The room was quiet. Then—

‘SMASH!’ and the closet axe crashed!

And a violent ‘ZOP!’ and the red balloon popped!

And a terrible ‘OOF!’ and the man went ‘POOF!’

And transformed into a wizard on the spot

And he summoned forth the sacks

And he summoned forth the axe

And the boy said, “Oh, I see! You’re growing pot.”