from The Creature


formally The Grand Tour . . .

Greensboro, North Carolina

I think of you often Mona and Iris and Tiffany 
in the justlings of the world 
I have taken the golden boy’s virginity 
a daughter of early puberty 
I’m in love with the hands of my old best friends 
a love intoned like a man who’s married 
or a man with a steady 
we are eating a name not our own 
the triumphs of true feminine 
to sleeve out when she comes in 
skipping ropes on Carr Street 
poems written in lipstick for a mystic 
move away to another state 
and then you’ll write a poem 
with an old bottle of coco butter 
our incarnations like so many BBQs 
jerka oh nosa and the smell of Pernod 
freeze freebie 
William May forthwith with Angie Decola 
we have eaten with our foot on the gas 
too early for whiskey too late for the rocking chair 
mint juelps on my chin 
all that bad grammar like banjo Joe 
maybe I’m slinging country 
to hold a steel bowel I have it loosely like 
old bull lee on the ribs 
a pinata of old flames 
I wanna give to you so hard 
light anoints me the sex toys 
cutting off the motor and floating it 
I am a wonderful woman in jeans 
a ripped leather 
little tinkering doodle bell 
I’m on star search 
at the centre of this music box 
a wingless bird like a prophet descended from 
clouds or a chinese jacket 
we’ve dubbed it the wet dishcloth 
buffed up for Dante 
is this a ghost or your ghost? 
I suppose it’s a phone 
it is not a meme
pass the cookie dough 
the ferry is cancelled 
a little creature drops into my lap 
a lightning bug has crash landed 
moon faced by television 
racked up and licked 
an orgy of worms 
spring and all that 
we must have kissed a hundred times 
a cicada has landed on my pa tay ta 
we’ll sort you out down under 
an anywhere road for anywhere anyhow 
I am ready to leave or get thrown out 
a car is spinning around the bluff 
the supreme being of elephants
I’ve bought it at Krispy Kremes 
no hey a tart over the tea waves 
sing into my little horny box 
the real white stripes 
kudzu or herbatka 
now it’s duze password French entry 
all the eyes all the tails 
sing into my little horny box 
beef tacos hard or soft behind St. Mary’s 
what has happened to his thumb 
it’s went swimming with her loins 
running on nuthin but tongues 
at the Old Town Draught House 
we come mid-week after workshop 
bashful loving feelings 
Fred Chappell is the mid-quest 
I have eaten his cake 
we are speaking to a recorded voice 
for a pre-determined number of minutes 
his hair made him bigger than my problems 
wag and mosey wag and mosey 
gone over the horizon 
twice as fast as we had hoped for

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