J . A r t h u r B o y l e —

MANGER

Asleep in a freezing machine, baby angel—

dayswrought slop-stepping thru

local history

Big prairie's

stop'n'shop clouds

graze my blank head peeling

from th'intensity of direct communion

with that giant

thing

in the sky

screaming my name

all the time These

burnt creatures

nurturing a neat hurt, pert things

w/ a little capillary action

on th'lean maxillae with the will

and the rhythm of constant beginnings

slithering mucoidal but just

listen,

dawg

we got food dye

in the C4 so

now I guess it's pink but

we still plan to plant it

in the middle

of that vast American heart

land where families in trucks

slow up to ask

Alright ?

Ho, yes—

All right—

I'm the sunstaring American

purging discs of neon

it's all even bigger than you can see

It's all the biggest part of everything,

here,

and I'm gonna blow it all to hell

PARADE

"FIREWORKS for SALE 

BIG 

behind WELLS FARGO" 

parading against th'flaming beetle, 

burnt behind a 

gasstation off 

I-seventysix, 

that one w/ 

gambling room lightsoff 

+ slots-on and 

Dallas Alice cuddling 

my dice down 

Monongahela–– 

we got nothing but 

vague business; riotous 

times at 

the infinite plaza 

Adorants of plastic canopics 

toddlerlocked on 

re-loading screens 

A charolais ranch 

A charlatans craze 

Classical ruins of midwestern barns 

where 

Wabisabi etsy sellers 

hock phrenologists' 

pinsers for the for 

ceps foreheads gauging 

pressure (phineas, time) 

Ironrod cerebellum and 

death at the saltlicks 

thank you Bill 

for this lilaccy even; 

twilight twice-slighted like 

A shitslickened lavabo 

a billboard for hospice 

staring at us all 

but Us only stops 

for Impossible Whoppers 

at the IDF cantina, 

embellished like Valhalla 

w/ long polymer bench 

crying out in worship 

of Poly Ethyl 

and her lean,

vedic insistence 

on the absent word 

spelled in the dirt: 

A promise 

of total permission 

appeasing vast sons 

The myth of 

California 

Alfalfa sprouts Champion

baize Migrants put 72 clovers

perbucket perminute + 

wonder confrontingly 

of older yolkes: 

amberrich pouring 

from the jagged mouths 

of shells, littering concrete

split in heat Arterial splay

of Freeway runners 

the green VW always still burns

We announce a failed delivery:

New-Google says 

“the Event is not a simple act,

like birth or an explosion,” but I

see spoonfuls of It waiting in

my testicles, wanting 

spliced expression 

in a child 

who just keeps winning 

the lottery 

and having 

the cashier 

at 

Dollar Universe 

break it all up 

into pennies

MUSKELLUNGE

We got 

tar pit 

fire at 

home Mom 

we got 

long scop'd muzzles 

at the beach n' 

pink C4 in plastic 

gift wrap plus this bow 

tied 

round our revolver these 

arsoncharges update 

daily with a 

bun in the oven + 

handmedown shoes from 

toddler defendants in 

Kansas and 

no place to stay in 

Kansas but this 

big river of hearts 

bloodied by jaundiced 

lawncare + too many 

tasks not so 

many days 

left 

to do em 

so 

we got 

muskellunge 

attitude, cuddler— 

swimming 

up 

teethfirst face in the 

 black  

staring 

all 

the time 

staring

at their 

feet

.