Come on, a beetle? Do you thinkon the couch her mint

She turns their eyestouching the edge of the sea

And leers fall looking for footholdsseeing hands approaching

On the deuces that lingerthe language teacher standing before the icebox

The ones, hearts priedthe confessional tipped over

In the fondue pothis Russian Pontiff’s hat jarred

Going for the shoulder platesonto his cranium. The endive tipped the fence

And cruising in the green woodsa young garden

Others, your sister walks inwalking between beans and graves

Crossing the rockswhole ghosts

Where St. Antoine turned up the volumecut open a bar of soap passing

The signs were freshly painted andmusic come forward seven songs

Getting sick over the starboard railviolins, oboes, fried dough

Who was dancing softly on the crossour old country kitchen

Apparently, you can tap dance on seconaltumbles down the hill a fiery look

O venture capitalists, enormous doorfrom an old dead phonograph

And Gene Autry’s dog. Don’t look at its faceloves of scabbard-wielders. His home

Who, recalling how the fauceta long dress to the ankle

Battled in the darkened woodsat eight o’clock I eat a cookie alone

E’cu-me? Who been sittin’ in my seat?alarum ringing as the queen is taken

Over the register. Ode to her mons.a ghoul with his mouth open in the supermarket parking lot

Dead lorry driver. Grrra ghost at the check out

Church cherishers. Dan finallynext one goes out to my club-footed lover

All-over tan. Decreed plainlyif you have two feet I’ll cry & drown

You who cast your vote for drug-law reformthe ass goes down smoothly

Skin-chafers, Iautumn I head for the plains

For your death threats at dawnyour flowers are out of the can

And the urinals damn ouryour bankers can’t read a map