Surgery addict poems
jay Snodgrass
Hysterical books Tallahassee Florida
Judas Priest
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5
Psycho Color
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7
Hookworm
.9
Finger Puppets
.11
surgery addict
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13
judgment of the furies
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15
jelly fish
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17
down the drain
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19
Oedipus satan
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21
transfusion
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23
Judas Priest The clear blue invites me to confess it breaks my skull with its camp-officer’s baton. When I think of you I’m filled with opposition, airy thoughts thick as the cream on my brain seeping through my eyes like rain through path stones. The popular media makes me a holy man, but to Fashion I’m just another baton-worthy apparition. I’m afraid to walk between strangers. My fear is the color of enraged billboards. It’s cold here, the color of gas station attendant’s uniforms.
5
Psycho Color
The church eats my dog sends me a bill for tears and indigestion. Tread gently this carpet of saint’s hair which burns when you walk upon it, or when you lie your confession to its golden strands. These clouds are holy sky writing or great loops of sky intestine draped over the high-rises like angel hair pasta, vaporous noodles in the holy vomit of God’s own Alfredo. Say you are sorry. Speak into the microphone of retribution. Those detonations are improvised from my roadside attitude, inflated sequence of holy fire.
7
Hookworm Through the leg of love time bends oblique severing conventions, dogs and children arguing driving the curve of a cello until it is ancient and universal.
Petrarch, Threenoses Your hand no longer a hookworm I watched you fall from the palm tree framed by a condo the exact shape of a medical dictionary. What made it strange was the sunset through palm fronds, surgical and foreign. As an adult now you sleep on benches and mimic the wail of subway cars. Sometimes you sprinkle bleached flour so no one can approach without leaving footprints. I think the wind was the tree’s doctor who shook you from its intestines before you could take hold of her beautiful coconuts.
9
Finger Puppets Against the reading light you flap the shining insect wings of your hands. I take extra plates down from the cupboard, am caressed by feelers. Everyone’s fetish hoards a tingle. For instance, the way wax melts white and pink on the crescent of your stomach. Where do your bones keep their skin when you sleep? in the drawer, with the shaving knives? In the restaurant of my mind, no eats as much as you. When the farm was razed all the animals stood up and saluted.
11
Surgery Addict
See here, this is how you know the value of stitching, how failure is shaved, the thin hairs collected in a beaker of gold. The lab tech warns you your country needs you to fail. the woven traffic of your intestines. measure your debt divided by the number of surgeries provided, then subtract your eyes, replace them with light meters. insurance will provide the walrus tusk to be affixed to the nose of your space ship. See? things are looking up. Once you’re all closed up it isn’t failing anymore.
13
Judgment of the Furies
We inherited grace, middle school and needle light. Recall how we were gasoline weaned for mercy’s sake because mercy delights in her electrical lights (bitch) meanwhile sparks on the horizon prelude the whip of dawn, her magnetic blossom, cleaveage beneath the meteor gown. You men who worship at our temple we can see you are in full endowment. We open our gates to the penetrating crowd, faces in delight.
15
Jelly Fish
here is a jar at the grocery store marked jelly here is another marked fish take them both to the bread isle and throw them as high as you can so that they smash together at the vector of marble rye and discount white bread run as fast as you can, arms outspread, and dive chest out onto the shards of glass stinging capsules and tentacles, there is nothing more deadly in all the sea
17
Down the Drain
The drain is a circle of eyes blinking back the remnants of our shame. I am pierced in rows by scientific fetish. I welt up with an allergic bulging that indicates the more illusive, more turgid effects of your body. Scapula and curve, hairs in place of breath, cleaned behind the foaming. It slips away. I am cracked open, desiccated for you through sky.
19
Oedipus Satan Momma is relaxing in her favorite sledge of granite. Practicing for the grave is what the papers say.
Memento Mori for the service of criminal organizations she wrought. That, and the shade of expectations, everything else
we’ve put to rest in the doomed arcade.
I’m affirmed without help or fear of the present
which describes the line of a mitered prefab sarcophagus which is the unspoken word for whoever is taking the notes.
21
Transfusion
I give you absent fingers
to probe ingratitude and bitterness.
Little sausage casements of precious things,
lacquered, like the dark metal of the inquisitive,
with shame. Amateurs!
You resemble the returned product in your defect of want. It touches the barrenness of desire’s wood shop. That is all! Rejoice.
23
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