BINGEBOT 2015

You have been around quite a bit, relatively. Well, I am going to go and get ready for Tough Mudder. Good day to you sir.

I’m not settling like a formaldehyde drizzle on the morgue sea

of looping and looping figure eights

where junk DNA births frozen snakes

and the Styrofoam moon pulls pill-shaped lesions

out of a grey matter nightjar from which the dolphins dart so

be my Psychopomp, my amnesia egg where break’s

a feathered static the sound of a green balloon

going crazy losing air

to good-willed mouth-to-mouth resuscitators.

My 4th mug shot grows claws, Psychopomp.

It grows a twelve inch tail of itch that looks

like a dependent clause twenty-three politicians long

swatting horseflies. I have hooves

of sugar and huff on fog and

they say I’m tough on crime but really

(as my 2nd photo proves) I’m just

the mouthpiece that keeps the poem agog.

Where the double-jointed hermaphrodite on the shoreline

turns its white ruffle dress into a ladle for the tide,

I’m the saltwater dispatch, a slab of sand

in the image of George Washington crossing the Delaware, a face

ferociously like your

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