Zoo Po Day

The zoo

is getting me out
of bed this
morn, the zoo of no
small animals, so showing
off the taller ones–come
to the zoo say they.
There are gift shops
and zoo objects besides,
the tigers want to brush
your teeth, keeper
with this red baton
just in his case, the lemurs,
the lions, giant
tortoises shuffling each
to another duck pond.
I want to sleep, the zoo, I cry
and my animal song
the animals cry back, is both
going to bed and rising, slipping
into the top shelf
like a book by everyone
else: relative, a toad, a plosive
alarm, the one spoonbill
I keep going flamingo, flamingo to.

– – –

I am a failure at getting
up and proportionally this
failing is making like
a trace along the sinuses.
I am contacting rubbing
and some of the salt
hocked is laying, of a spring
leaf, jiggling. Begin, day.
The dayforth lording
of my buddies, hauling
sheets to wit. Spick enzyme
duet-cha! My ear piers.

– – –

So same, ray, my sun
the subterranean moon: it babies
in the basket of our rising. License
expired. Hoodwink the pinkness, array,
a show of clothes walking-in.
Believe you me, no tea takes
living to lift, no egg. The dapper
dear rolls whitely in his woman’s
clothes, the stoic cooks,
the flinging with which relegates.

– – –

First, tie gurrrr

It is licking to which the tongue mechanism stoops low as a crow to needle. The bottom of said tiger, who haunches and looks grand, in rocking with one extension (being one leg) is right there. It is hard to imagine this one’s under-the-belly action being cleansing, less a hunk, more tourniquet of winter nightness.

– – –

water hauling
besides

– – –

The operated bear wolfing
to the rocks and the operator
on the setup trees. We are
windy, they think. Oranges
torn apart to their right,
birds fragmenting them
further. What kind of birds?
I and they, don’t know. In only
this way we link.

– – –

Rhino, symmetrical

Where on is exactly
like two leaning
against the dust, what
of the heat about
you rhino? What a bird
to throw you off. There
there is twitching in
your general quiet, I think,
of Paul and you, then
the hair making your horns,
then the black eye
of your skull lost
in little like the dust.
It would take a pair
of peacocks to rouse
you, their prancing
which isn’t yours and
you must have regarded
them. You always regard.

– – –

To Little, Girl

A bird at the foot equals
ten in the sky.

– – –

Hello, sun bear. This annoying
bird to our left is bettering
the wind with his sexuality.
Sun bear is a little bonnet.
Holiday, your tan nose. We are
easily in the zoo right now,
through children are in the
way.

– – –

Chinese muntjac

Never weathering the
grandmotherly way
bodies kind of condense
with age. Muntjac, there
is a hole on you. Look.
Your body is all of a
deer crammed into
this plush box. You’ve got
a pointer, to voice concern
for the birds, who I can not
escape, this, really, happened,
in, my, heart. Big time.

– – –

Giraffe, Balance

There are multiple leanings
and swinging which is simply
standing. Work is which way,
depending. The wind alights
his back. There is some
thing about a leash, here,
which I am thinking even
falsely. I pull taut as all
giraffe seeming, which
has taken, in fact, a picture.

– – –

Nyala

Big ear-ed deer. Which is
our listening to the grass.
You have a black Mohawk
which I can’t decide about.
Evolutionary advantage?
Hah. The birds think, not.

– – –

East African Crowned Crane

The crowned crane has wicked walking
habits, a spiny sneak which contrasts
that head of birds to what splaying fuzz
that was her belly. What of it? What of
it, in a bitty voice, like a snake
attached to wings.

– – –

So static at the zoo, for whom
this is routine. I see the
pleasings of all water, moorings
of children at the railings,
dad on camera at the far end.
I could begin this like a trip
or begin to see you new:
zoo of getting on, zoo of gyre.

– – –

the dry air
bear

– – –

Lie on

me lightly, holiday, the same
(to the sides) pile of yawning you,
the newly gold understuff,
squinting, is it, that you do,
strewn in your own won shade
in this dust. What are you to do,
but this.

– – –

Otter, others

Wheeze all! The water
applause and the hollowed
log and better company
when you twirl the webbing
twix your fingers. It gets the
better of us. Your tail is this
muscle only equal to what
you know about yourself
swimming and switching
to land like nothing. We are
all the same to you. Food.
It is all to same, slip, between.

– – –

Yo! Monkey!

It is all about armpits with you and the through-ways the body lays itself out, anus, everything being slack. We are nervous and we are not. We are touching like Jimmy does, mounting the fence with this spread of shoulders, impossible shoulders, which do little more than roll around, a little abject, closer to home, the bones being small partners of the scheme.

– – –

One less ankle is simpering
on the couch. Her mouth is
around her, stars on it. But not
those stars. The dimming
is for all circumstances: her mother’s
sick and her friend and her friend
is otherwise taken, romantically,
involved. This is all a statement
of purpose. Fly back to New Mexico
three days previous to the operation,
place her body on top of things: her
mother’s bed, the chair beside, the
linoleum. She knows no one

expects her to know what
to do. She just flicks
around her most comfortable
clothes. From this distance
it seems divine. The plane
is four hours away and her friend
is buying soup. I’m at this table,
table taking on the things, the water,
and the lemon slices in it. It is good
to leave Tucson and good to take
place in a terminal and seemingly
leave it forever, watching all the
recedings, housings, as opposed
to what is in front of her now, The purling
of soup and water and in despicable
clarity, there is a noonday moon
rested on the buildings.

– – –

Dinner is finished, if not
empty, there are loose usuries
of to-go-boxes: I hope your ice
creams you.

Port trait sure.

“the Chinese are very complicated”

– – –

White ||

Rice balls are white and lightly sprinkled with dew from new morning sun shiny light in the room on your face to this day played out.

This is your favorite place to eat. I am eating here and it feels bad to be here and eating, eating numerous things in the soup and using the soup to think of you. I am getting green from eating and smelling.

Pocky
whipped chocolate
covered biscuit sticks

Pocky
Biscuit sticks covered
with strawberry cream

– – –

I have half the
day to raise you
up like chickens
and pick the corn
out, out your bitter
little mouths.

– – –

The meat aisle, the tooth-
brush aisle, piles of bags
of razors, advanced healing,
honey, wonder grahams, seven-
teens, planters drastically
cut above the moving food.

– – –

Booksale
3650 Speedway
(next to Truly Nolan)

– – –

To the foothills with you

this Friday afternoon, you
are driving by, you are you
signing through the open window,
you noontime driving pageant
after the Skylarks and Voyagers
pull through. Christian? Single?
A dollop of cloud assigned
to the sky, a stew. Oh and are you
movie-ing, heading lightly round
the bout of shop signs and
billboards, fumbling in wonder-
ment, to three cheeses and a noodle
Italian ristorante. Everyone is
seemingly there and or here,
pugh (puew).

– – –

Dear Ice Cream Company

My name is Dawn Renee Pendergast. You sell too much ice cream. Because of your negligence, elevators are being recalibrated. What’s next and another thing; it’s bad form to serve ice cream in Styrofoam. This is not aesthetically pleasing. It’s now or never, ice cream company. You must show the American people you are more than the emperor of ice cream. Democracy and ice cream belong together. I wonder if you shouldn’t be iced cream or milk cream.

– – –

It Burns

There are bits of my lizard in the bathtub, mine
because it is mine to have a cat that kills
it. Also mine, a history of the lizard sans
tail. I was once one to look longer at them
and feel pinched for the poor things; the trickles
of blood laughing out of the cuts, what
the teeth did and where they took their
time. Mining it, I did learn something,
and I remember it a little. But no one will
now take it away, from the bathtub, or even
look on the little speckle. As everything is
apart from it now, so am I, I am thinking
about myself.

– – –

Brimmy Salome

The tip of pitch is
nosegay. Bulletin:
that after dinner
we will wash the
fish in the river.
For now, I am
looking turned
to the after-
face of the sky.
Solemn, it still
is and gay.

– – –

Spraying

This is the way Anna
all at once comes to
in the bathroom, her
tail like part of a tong.
She is fixed, I say, and
she speculates. Having
parts starting female,
a tail (afore mentioned) some
walking ways that slip
the grasses animilar.

– – –

If Paul

had imitated an anteater, as he was speaking to me to do and the doing had all at once confronted his mouth sounding out the nose to go further, to what is possibly as snout, and his eyes flattened to discs and this was done beside a dusty puff of desert someplace far from our conversation, farther still from half-miracles we both know occur, and the ants were scattering; then the tongue of him blipping like bungee cord, with what a smell, what an awkward arrangement of hands half-legging and claws and the bottoming out of every thing we are usually saying to each other, in lieu of this anteater, the pretense of its body, the falling to earth and stiffening.

– – –

The day of partly

bantered chollas and
octatillo expulsions
one of us is wearing
jewels

The day play:

tea left to burn the
bottom of the pot.

Day during which the

scratching posts attached
to trees resemble
the beginning of the
falling that all of our
cars are parked under

Day, dangerous,

day lilies and pictures
of flowers in spring

– – –

Boo font

There are ways to play the hair on her head, to say I am partly falling to the side, against the cheekandsuch, what walking would do to us them–4th Avenue–the wind pulling dust up in turnips and turning it to hair. A real do. I’m walking on top of the hair assuch and not to worry about hands through it of the mistake of her face for all that hair, where I would be, now that outsideness is the fashion–we are both out, which is to say smells are stuck to us and the feeling proper is strutting know-how and lift off and common firmament.

– – –

Kid with a hoodie has his arms out as if the act of propulsion itself is a matter of acquiring a big chest. Is he wishing for noble shoulders? The act of answering any question accounts for multiple articulations of an utterance, slant. There is pandering over word choice, noise, then the side of said question finding formalization. As if opening the puppet, re-arranging the way it hangs on.

– – –

Many me:

The season of smallness is upon us. We are welcome. The paunch and circumspection… There is food to eat and eating it in the backseat while several people look into the window with reproach. I’ve caught the screenal junebug.

– – –

My oh my

life is trying
to die, my oh
so handrolled
life, oh column
of white life
tightly rolled,
oh to back oh
me, upendsy out
of daylight’s this
and that I’m licking
shut , shutting like
teeth to me, my life, I
down, the little
lightings plying
me open with
a red stick, alight, my life,
and seeing as I am
afraid and seeing
silence, it is in me and lies
on me and sleeps seeing
daylight in, in this, oh my,
so this is so.


* First, Tie Gurr; Rhino, symmetrical; To little, Girl; Chinese muntjac; Giraffe, Balance; East African Crowned Crane; Lie on; Otter, others; Yo! Monkey!; published in “Intercapillary/Space”

Other Fragments published  in Horse Less Review #10

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>