HOUSE OF FORMALDEHYDE
It’s not where you’re going, it’s
Where you’ve been. Dateline
In the harbor. Fellow rushes
For funding, fuming, flipping
Flaccid: rimless erosion, witless
Emulsification. As on a bent,
Meal, plaid, plane, a girl
Holds a pail, defends a swirl
Stumbling for eviscerated lead hooks
Englotted, Nordic stoops
Whosover irradiates decay, plunged
As pediment, foaming sail, lining the
Shifts with spongy (spectacular) spatulas.
Horatio of spell-bent positioning, fusing
Co-spaniel foresight and copper-wire calumny
Against the grain of saddlestitch cornmash.
Precisely giddy, morosely fecundated. Snorkling
& then snookered. Roadside rest-test adjoined
To defamilial tireiron. (Unhooks what’s
Best left loose.) As was fonder than
Revenants. Neither a fender nor a succotash
Be. (Merely a spittoon of her petunia.) Seeking
Not or seeing blotted—wave-high the croon,
Defrock the peeling Argonaut. I would
Not sink her ship nor span her
Border as lacking sun-stained
Catapults. Neither have I . . .
Whose deflection can only pronounce insipience
As the promise leadens enactment
& the dusted gables parrot the stick to which
Only lessening accounts. The serpentine miles
Of the long-laundered parade dissolve
In gulps, becalmed forays. Having hidden
My amulets & fired my token,
Alone on a dust-dark sea, with only
Thee. Or wails oasis, deeded ground
Where foot cannot fall, & felled, retains.