Carol Mirakove

from WALL



roughometer

gentle pending [you] angel lady
stocking officials in their separate
                                                      test tubes
     cross-tied my legs to maintain
mediocrity               straight-pressed by priest-tongues
they plow                perfect yield signs
     still her    [slash]    blessed paradigm
             strip her of tumbleweed she
doesn't want to lay a lovely
            groan / scratch in the unifying

roundness

 


lead-

based presents in the killing jar
                   lustless and won’t ing
turbo towards the center line
                  & ejaculates        wiping the music
                   score         making the worldsafe
    etched in the refrained /
masturbation un
paralleled in
   prodigy who is
                  mani fested
                                           & heaving in targetless

leanings

 


red-letter the lounger

            getting off the draft
table
   gridded by exceedingly pretty
                            traffic &
salvage her
                from becoming the common
                ass by stanzas in
voice-overs                                 hurdled & pleading
for a comma store         & a sale on rest
                or macrame at least
                                in the form of a shawl
                with no shame attached
I am lazy and good
                              at crocheting the again
                of nothing to do
                but think      about lovewars
                                            & pronouns
                                                           in their felt-lined

redundancy


presents

                man down the block breaks down

scared that man

                                stayed inside the radio
scared that

plastic

                and everything else

scared
                that the time to be scared is past
and everything else including that

                red
                illuminating living rooms volumes

                thick a throat        clutter
                                              tends to comfort

                except when too
                close or uncontrolled
                then go around the block and
                                              wait for a big gap

                                the city

                                                            telling me
                there’s more than one body here

                                telling me to flesh it out
                and that the imperative is passe

                as if a mouth could do anything but

                                                                windscreen

                the violence of speech
and everything else
                                                springing dreams of
                                                self as silly
                                                putty
                                                over a mattress
and everything else in between

cardboard

                ties jacket up the

                man’s back
                little bows

                tautribbons


barrette

                           for the TV mantis
placing her neck on the guillotine
shudder the sidebones and
                           rest
thumbing
                                       fuck you I pray
for a big soundtrack
                              roundspecs
                                             I buy into all this
                              suede & shifty cameras
                                             schoolkids hoop the gap
                                             dully hop the tar & not-tar
                                             hugging the drapes
                              that could be a sound                     barrier
                                                                        kicking
            on purpose


bricklayer

lay me synthetic
sick and reactive
makes two tautological
authors more profound
or just as false--
animals a perfect
disposable
brute fact
of contingency
burns them away like
slag
spit        hips and
the primary obvious
as sloppy apparatus

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