Monday, February 27, 2012

poem || J. S. Murnet

Scat Chard

Scales scraps scums sketch scat squack
vacuum tomb room forte in the space of noon
lasp labter floating on the balcón a tube
of lisp and hunger Felix Unger would have
capped sauce or shoes, tapered coffin
laundry on the slack pack mule in labor
ious tonnage course corrective slope
cradled in the laundered soup be course
of bi-valve bi-planes leaning on the
G-round clunger soap mutter where
your double rice crawling up the sidebar down
the hoop and over pass to stimple crashly
hapt the clome sort or copter the
mist (rash) in keyless C throat dinkled
with your smoke and limit less free
poured paint trachea with coarse aplomb
was duped an tressed lick tambores thumbing
through the reeds dressed up as silver
plate lungage theming in the corset trunk
fungi-prodded over (taken) patched & trimmed
brinkly cramped the leg thunders
borscht or ‘ploded rice made from one
lang gong spreader bowl slumbered
in the gasoline plein air disco
urse omar brackenly at poise
paw pause. Nape
of glimmering,
trance gone shot hopped cloppily
portented (con-) and plush ear
rings ringing (stringing us knot
bursting, map a heap, tempid throat
gustered like wheezency or joust concave
mudthump in the pantry gristle spawling
aft the lumpness fatsy comprehensive
low cost locust dim in your end-o-clactic
submumps, stay the thrush, tembd the
sorting of your soupnuts pounce upon your
mirror weight according to the polls a contraction
inflates the river swirling back up hill
the sequel to down (townie’s) veracity flake,
tends the soap to dribble consequences not so
named doubles slots to drop your coinage in voici
enough space spurned by sprockety wind borne passages plundered off their arm
socks shrinking in
the winded lake beds down with trampolinis
apt to vault some slobbering kite strings
bright with apeless light like here and there
frappe mortarboard what mumbled lintly cousined
what hung ahead what ran and left the hoist
(about-face factoid fingerboard separated
in the garbage shoot by grackle or a pump
kin west of stall (tall tales)) hankered
for a Quick Thumb or smouldered feathers
peasantly aware (alert) spun forwardly
smattered luggage like a stack of bricks
to look at more than lug (these premises confuse
distinctions between this and hinter (land lines))
sand times sorta sugared in the soup or
towels floating in the lake where purse strings also
float before the ice white lampshades dripping in
the rain because the rain is blinking in memoriam
forcepta clinking in the alley mist
tu sus out quantity from usually
qualitative Bic ink dunk vate smoking
lint and toilet water lint grapes stall in
hit wonk watery ascansion blOtto
(belted in the) soup a form crud a
tooth and macramé or salted youth made
whee-lived spattered on the cover of a
movie magazine featured dogs
with purple hearts on quiet charts
of waves and forms a lumpy dark horizon
blunt as twisties from the bread loaf
snarled together in your pocket like a poem
arrested for due diligence and penitence.
A cork whistles in your jacket like a wheel
going cool wheelish about to tumble furlonged
samples wedded to the dusty belts
accommodating penitence and schooling
thumbs to fasten rice inside the envelope
evocative of should(er length) demise
once fastened to the s(t)able combs like
irridescent grease and waves of hair with blades
where braids would dip into the glom of ink
a foot sink bath and lêvres swimming
peak perfidy - like snow cones in the jaguar
cave witz balam and the rain rises up
to lake light not withstandoff choice a lagging art
lock sweeping in the garage pinned a slapdash broiler
on the leaking piston glowing in the heat of verdigris
with stepping stones across the grease-filled
yard the sea roiling at the end of the street
posturing with(in) coherence: world withering stalling
wingblood bladder bladder knocking in your pants
“Store for now or just let go?” Stall, stone,
stray? Cash? Locker foaming? Crawl outside the
flooded cave? Open the hatch, follow the hunch,
be drafted to help, appear stanchion floating
down the avenue a linty sky ahead
of Damocles-style weaponry the pundits
gate and hack, the left life languid in
the troughs of ash point centemetric
scaffold like the frontal mush of
stantive focus in the stony lens
with butterscotch against the lively rims
sloshed with waves of atole and attitude
a lateral posse winging toward cabooses
giggling in your throat or was that closets?
Wow! The
megaphone went wily! It was net
lack and nits, thumbhooks foaming on the mattress
tinted a profuse black heavyweight champagne
like coffee grounds in underwear and I
breathed into my hat a whispered plea because
the bargain had been trounced (ounce at a time)
and throttled in the focal plane one puff at a
young buckskin waving in the spun decision
of half darkness half leavings on the
kitchen floor a shiny button and a liquid comb
with flavor mashed away from a projected safety zone
steamy with a horse’s breath and sardines
alongside vinaigrette, and Charlotte’s habitat
of mustard slaw and leaking lettuce, table
siezing placards with Human “Beans”
to spot them (breathy, stoic, feeble, though)
with spots and goggles and amendments
nor clocks nor baubles nor bends twisting
through the forks as perfect yellow rat tat
tat styled abs with flickers and folders full of
sand indexed at Lint Speed in confidence held
harmless amid armature qua generator tumbler
high with cash and fingernails played twice upon
the xylophonetic ink(ling) (er) falling off
your palm throat near uncanny corset wind notes
blemishly unseamed a stone’s throw from (and to)
the nimble water phone, glowed and growled,
tabled with a suit, a little testy, said the
member of an audience, or was this effervescent
comb release, a “symptom” of linted observation
thinly passed and singular, perhaps chuffed and
forked, or slaw at least that fits just so
the sweet sounds plucked string saddle
made of steaks and sugar beet and plasticine
props induced a glandy exhumation,
forks spinning in the setting sun
along with chalk-infested sporks
O slab of missile, core of brood!
Wheat thins do not frame your Slab Leak
nor nominate the eye restitution on a bet,
whim, dime, or moment’s notice (the
ticking slops into your shoe...) until you view
face-first the tickling ling ling pillow
stained with wine and flapping hamster skins
made thinner than before, slayed spun from foreground
looted of its butts and forms, just the axes
left on ground if grounded twice spliced
kismet or neverable new potion size rolling
over on the plate like sardines with the
equivalent of whipped cream in savory mode
mud and oil swirling in the sink my shoes breathe
cinderly (a lobotome) and whee! An ad hoc
symphony what a ham hack sinking in the hot
sauce! What a
vlassic yoke, a clandestine
voyage, a stork’s santini loose and
gimping down the muddy sidewalk
with a bag of chalk and chard and

J. S. Murnet 2007-2012

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