Labberneck

CANTO XXIII

man, these baby saurs in godzilla
nearly rip off matthew’s face while reno
steel dicks out double doors

but lip service must be licked—
“these feckers in hollywood need to stop remaking
foreign films” made once that’s enough, capisce?

if everything exists as both particle and ray
then we are always alternating between little fireballs
and large muffins thermal pairs

crispus crispus crispus what’s
a father to do? you’re in a state
of denial: what’s hot? getting $100

off a dress: get dressed! urban
eye pope on a rope damage control
worn down by years of fighting over ireland

we’ll keep it short and sweet so you can
too phil spector seal inspector mrs. dallas
said i was exotic for an eleven-year-old

quarks pions waves of radiation
bubbles of plasma mesons baryons
noodles springs strings bands

the concession table has just enough for extras
talent doesn’t need to scarf up the balance
close-ups of burps chewing gum focus tape

you’re smarter than i think?
aren’t you in this movie?
who won’t praise famous men?

people too callas not nin faint fonteyn
beaton glitter gala giggle faster better
gallura guts gander grown gape

greatly stranded in sardinia
stuck in a foreign country deep
in the pitch bedeviled back again

donadio sd/ “how can anyone predict the future
when it’s so hard to predict the past?” looky
is + that + all + you’ll + eat? christ!

trees are for climbing, and books are
for throwing—rabbits have christ!
linger not lightly loose yet freighted

with lead like frati godenti capons
of christ rule the demise of uberti
tread lightly on caiaphas and annas

who lie like their father who lies
lost generation like the last one
genx from what ypres torn

once upon a time we watched bowie
slink across the wall at dc space
search for a clear glass of still

water and let his mind wander
back to that barren sandscape
that might have been mars or mojave

whichever he’s just escaped or abandoned
as the first trans trans hermaphro
spacedude allowed to splash himself

onto 35mm without priors or bona
fides to represent his talent as strictly
celeb no vita attached nor no resume

backing a headshot presented to warners
et fils instead spread out pistol forth
and glass backward waiting to be

filled at some trough deep in the desert
like another alien in “petrified forest”
leslie howard he returns love for lead

if i could name a fruit for you
t doesn’t stand for me
it’s the cover of the nyt

style mag “ahead of the curve”
spring 2007 with a tiny “vinyl”
blue cutie hair pulled back—looky

like thom yorke’s girl daiane
but set in sao paulo copan blue
patent leather at $2475 by ghesquiere

then blue on page 3 a pure mope
dude in invisible pool bummed
by his visa bill, i guess, then page 5

calvin’s two kids browned off
on page 6 the guy leaning on a suitcase
is really really a werewolf preparing

to rip the guts out of pertwee in scotland
and my mom thought i was an exciting tour
de force but i liked best to dig holes

in the yard cutting edge symmetry o of o
down where the trolls might go
particle zoo bottles of yoohoo

supersmell quarky dumbified mrs. dallas
thought i’d make a great jockey
cause i was diminutive and she had

horses for harry potter to ride kittens
to cuddle and neutrinos to melt cause atoms
aren’t invisible just small like tiny billiard

balls on god’s snooker table plus i was pisces
with webbed hands and scales from psoriasis
swum deep deep deep floated positive

buoyant as flowers or laurel or lilies or pads
or hyacinth or cattails or grease or the faroes
no, the czech workers utopia no, the mash-up

whether an act of love or greed
to grant all earthly power
through breath and bone

crispus’ da removed to greece
evil began when jealousy unquenched
read reports of foreign entanglements

unknotted and nodded to executioners dispatched
such without theory have all fallen
when polymorphous present succumbs

in the throat of eternity
should we have pinned constantine—
and would that have saved his son his wife mother

not a frigg’n song to sing about crispus
worse crispus sunk to limbo
while his da rose to martian prominence

when wheel rolls downward for you to stop
when bone turns deep in the mountain’s door
when breath blows hard in your face

fairway in dubai no bohemian beijing
no rotterdam no umbrellas up the wolfie’s butt
leaning just so teeth sheathed

tennis and no socks shirt untucked just so
global gambling pod hotels street threads
maxwell’s silver hammer father ado

in the yard SUSY o of o
down where the trolls might go
particle zoo bottles of yoohoo