Poems

Short Stories

Articles

Marc Nasdor

from Sonnetailia

3/9

fix my goddamn leaky roof or else, cross public eloquence
with sacred contempt and soon the headlines close in
on you, such episodes for example, your surname
conveniently mangled, owners of vast tracts of wastewater
frontage cry out for arousal of moonstruck peasants
and bleary-eyed deviationists, a program of intrigues
calmly sacked by its own ineptitude, moreover by world
cataclysm and the reconstruction of innumerable
embezzlements, acquaintances, honorable friends
and dispassionate engineers calling forth crystal-
spewing matrix displays, kingdom of god splattering
indulgences on humanity like Shit on a Shingle, talking
tacos yammering about the weather while everywhere else
habitual hailstorms of cluster bombs merely upsetting
a few breakfasts, what are these
                                                    planet earth people
thinking, something is dripping;

3/12

the population’s being difficult, here’s mud in your eye,
we come from the planet of infantile table manners,
you’ve now got clearance to eject one pie, last millennium
people threw up incessantly and so yielded bumper crops
to feed the starving masses, engorging themselves instead
on questionable animal by-products, last century saw
etiquette books stuffed into secret lavatory receptacles,
pulped for recycling, rolled into cigarettes, flushed
to the sea, but only last weekend we discovered
everyone’s down on all fours humping like their parents,
better to obviate than motivate, what do they tender
to trample, a strange force in my hand wants to heave
something heavy in the direction of you, dear reader,
but my brain stomach and asshole have conflicting opinions
on this, unfortunately or fortunately
                                                         the last word can wait
so long as we still have feet to vote with;

3/15

double-crush emasculator, man that stuff just boils
my baloney off, members of the professions have appeared
on the farm, accountants at eight, auction at two,
foreclosure and dinner at six, though come to think of it,
it what, a smiley face sprouted off the end of my
fuck finger, condensed into globule spewing invective,
glug glug, end of recordable history, glug glug, my bubbles
are imploding, glug glug, maybe I'll get my appendages back,
he's extremely happy, we're extremely unbelievably happy
waving happy happy branches and frantic frantic digits,
and now that its legs will have commenced to animate
a jump off the silo and into the abyss of their overalls,
what difference, if any, between hayseed and yahoo
only bull capital B and droppings lowercase e may
wholly survive to appreciate,
                                                though not this life
and excited away from the barbecue pit;

3/16

bring you poker trousers up, calm before cough
and bark around the motorhome, the flags the lawn,
miscellaneous tree trunks, he was born a maple
but the neighbors promptly tapped him for sap,
boiled him down to sugar and shrubbery, checked
what kind of hand he was holding, it’s alive and pustular,
long threaded rods bulging under green felt tabletop
getting limper as we speak, while across the yard
a pristine family soon to undergo the hissyfits
initiates a domino chain-spank, invoking reality
and its collateral consequences, all persons
present rolling warm and caring souls over burst-open
bags of hospital refuse, gleaming hypos and fluid-
soaked gauze discharging into passersby, breaking
his concentration
                            and contributing to his
not having a nice day;

4/1

inside the vesicles of ordnance and supply, prisms
in a sanguineous spectrograph, needles or needless
which one is it, a groin kneed a groin impeded, a torn
tubule sutured within distresses its outline of sweet
meniscus to cauterize hemorrhaged tissue, late faux-
antiquity betrothes its colonies as irises data-map
to points of commotion, love’s mitochondria, hidden defect
of a solipsist’s refuge, de-boned crania, broad-brimmed
penumbrae and interstitial benevolence, an amorality
of spigots, eerie fantasia of the Vanishing Compañera
buffeting the heart into daily rotation, yet given a slice
of bedroom paradox a cinematic treatment abstains
its own closure, autistic as romance, or which lesson
might broker itself or its product weighing in for inertia
on the anvils of memesis,
                                          tossed like a femur
to a pile of the living;

4/3

may we leave now, rules of the Guest Culture, one
ought not kill one’s enemy while nursing on his spouse,
gratitude towards gimmickry is all we’ve been served
so please remain shopping, no requirement to people
the tables with barkers and card shills, expert counters
and the decoys assisting them, Exorcist-style rubber-
necking to spot check the players with big fuzzy dice
in their eyes, wheels of corporal punishment eyeballed
by antsy flagellants, automatic pity machines jackpotting
regret with every hand thrown, and here’s the instance,
we do not want to score we want to complete, soon
to be smacked into subtlety by convection or fission,
careering voices of the phantom consensus, rationalist
cheese wedges, manifold mobs distended with contentment
moving towards genocide
                                          and other results-
oriented acts of god;

4/4

this agreement stipulates to disgorge its agent, receive
release then dismember to details, this year being
auspicious as forced opportunity allows us to buy off
the Rapture as spirits incline and desiccate, representative
Left Behindedness, by this a providence and by this
a condition, we running exceptions as we running events,
we get to fail and/but we get to humiliate, onto whom
will your ruminant alpha-pricks lactate, neither bedded
in midtown nor splintered in the tunnel, we cannot sell
but neither can we rent and neither can we leave,
speak to your portfolio, fertilize your mortgage, pimp
yourself to an eager mammalian, when autumn comes early
the love harvest’s ruined, here the wasted convert
passed out in his buggy, the horse trotting its way
back to hearth and field
                                       where the village awaits
with forgiveness and gut-clamps;

4/13

pets expire in moonlit caskets, your nuts wouldn’t
fill up a thimble, when men begin to convocate
better to blast before they fry up your relatives
as giant cocks batter the landscape, split open
like milkweed and spore off divisions of airborne
cocklets, who’s thatching scenery to the roofs
of their cottages, elevated windows floating over
naked millions rioting silently in their boxcars,
enormous handfuls of seed corn scattered upland
to sow the pubis crop for next season’s pill-popping
prayer breakfasts, claustrophobic wedding socials
organized around doorways with freeze-dried felines
piled in pyramids near the fire exits, housecats gone
to heaven as consolation for lifetimes of arrogance,
only to discover canine angels
                                                managing the line,
wagging their blood-chunks behind them;