FROM DOG DAY SCROLLS
felony myth of felony
counting each rib
the coldest glass of water
tides of pleasure at next window
hillock and colt
carcass as season for
tending to the snag's nuthatches
deep in pulp
fastened to the glottal of revulsion
HIBACHI OF THE CONSCIENCE
The moat between my feelings
and an ethics is an anti-convulsant I slowly drip down my own leg, fool reservoir, walls blanched and indeterminate,
own boulder knocking down from its heights
approaching my flesh impediment,
fingered yet splashy hibachi of the conscience, a stripmall in Dayton.
Feed this Funnydew melon
I found in an Ohio
geocache in 2006 to our friend over there.
We all agree we are into butter
in suspension, whirling fat as jadrools gleaning
all the following
belong to the bastard.
How the chords are played
stupor on the rocks
at the national kiosk
fitting a gym-sock over
all things are full
boarded up well
prying as paradigm
as glass jutting slipper
tsuris dressed in skintight lycra
what is morning scree
drainage from the burn where we touched
passed around some Brut
splashing evidence encasing itself
as I flip over the mattress
Delivery refused clafouti of my harbinger,
succulent herbs haptic at window.
Dare I falsify my homework,
stride up to the hangar jingling my keys and a Manwich reveal at my mouth's corners.
They laughed at us in the courtyard, cum in our hair. They's dead or chemtrails
that's what's sprayed, think of your dead wonder jet beyond so many.
TED REES is the author of Thanksgiving: a Poem (Golias 2020) and In Brazen Fontanelle Aflame (Timeless, Infinite Light 2018). He lives in West Philadelphia.