poem || Jeff Harrison

Citizen Waste

my my, the fancy pasts!
we’d size up bones, & vintage — play human
bodies need graphite, take & eat —
snip my spill, You-My-Pieces, take & eat —
snack up those fancy pasts, play-human!
teeth this rest, antique gasped mouths

it's a conspiracy-dark finger you tap on your temple,
Citizen Waste, cut what was buried in the sky
rearranged eye skinning overhead, who's in the moon now?
a pawed meal of suns falling upon forgotten Merlins:
THIS IS THE INHERITANCE POINT = Citizen Waste, and
you're my underflesh...
of thread...
of print...
of honeyed remains, lady thunder, hard-boiled quattrocento --
it carries no edge, lady t*****r, cradle blades...

why are you wearing cradle blades? compulsive hammers?
eyes, tongues, & alone went bones, you're saying?

wild my air — vengeful poetry is after me
the whole space — is leaving a center
us but stray water propped up & disbelieved
but we have entombment, at least

afternoon soliloquy:

us ghost dead,
torn at the points

is pieces, merciless
nevertheless loveliness

finis.

sparely juggled, unpicked,
Citizen Waste filled in the law & caves
scars were daily eyes, iron candy
writing about my ink you spell "house"
the spoke-so language like a name extends a name
MY ASTONISHMENT IS YOURS, me is tunnels that
mirrors your fiery hue all fragile of shining lamps