Matthew Romaine, p.6
DWEEFISH
He is mugging the orchard its oranges
and benefiting from the resulting hoopla
narrowly escaping in spite of his shin-splints
to throw the grappling hook off the castle.
A white rainbow arches in the distance.
Smoke signals dim the lettuce patch.
Train schedules report on placemats
the colossal blunder of the coppers nearby.
In this humongous contemporary farce
a stable of italian horses stamps out a champion
and a staff of dawdlers in penguin suits
slate the next great arrival for midnight.
A jilted guard naps in the ductwork.
A moray eel refracts in the bowl of his dream
and far below his fetal pose
a celebration for the famous cage-match
rewards its relevance with leek-green champagne.
New age bells adumbrate the adrenal sky
and one lavender seed is spit into a mitten,
the first trace of the culprit. But those aren’t his eyes
out there in the darkling wood
those are two peeled cloves of garlic.
He is mugging the orchard its oranges
and benefiting from the resulting hoopla
narrowly escaping in spite of his shin-splints
to throw the grappling hook off the castle.
A white rainbow arches in the distance.
Smoke signals dim the lettuce patch.
Train schedules report on placemats
the colossal blunder of the coppers nearby.
In this humongous contemporary farce
a stable of italian horses stamps out a champion
and a staff of dawdlers in penguin suits
slate the next great arrival for midnight.
A jilted guard naps in the ductwork.
A moray eel refracts in the bowl of his dream
and far below his fetal pose
a celebration for the famous cage-match
rewards its relevance with leek-green champagne.
New age bells adumbrate the adrenal sky
and one lavender seed is spit into a mitten,
the first trace of the culprit. But those aren’t his eyes
out there in the darkling wood
those are two peeled cloves of garlic.