d a n a t e e n l o m a x

L05716867


the through line
Adam Smith’s
invisible hand
climbing
a girlie skirt
he understands
wealth
wide mouth open pool
private interest

and the rest




L05716867


no,
the through line
is my front yard
your lawn

long spears
green wave song
beheaded
neon jumpsuits

in colonial replica
wrong moth orchard, daisy field
town
San Quentin, non-canonic

their complexions
mason grey




L05716867


there’s aggression
in how we relate
sometimes to wit:
where’s my fucking village?
teeth marks, scratches
pinches with bent toes
needling the splinter
the through line
between my daughter
and me

L05716867

“The poem never says what lives in the barrel”
                                                       Kevin Killian


canned laughter
gas receipts
almost any magazine
trazadone
puddles of antifreeze
a through line
brown reclining La-Z-Boy
sugar well refined
power washed heroes
_______ ever after




L05716867


finally, the through line is temporal

anonymous

artifactual

valves open

and shut

involuntarily

as life

what’s in a name?

Rapunzel, artichoke, knee

fossilized identity

the road there doesn’t always resemble the road back

random sorting out of thought, things

seizures, mottling, fish out of water

odd grimace at the end

notes in every drawer of the house