glorious sticks shift, trending like bees out of orbit

Boom-Boxin’ Bosch Ascending to Empireun, [sic] the
by Cocteau

Now boarding. Okay,
Mammoth always faces away from the sights ahead
in subterranean situations as if reverse-zonking initiates,
nay, intoxicates baryons of tasing grace.

Hairy, wooly, like Florida orange juice-whirlpooled by
sombre, or sober, stick-shifts-of-glory, nor necessarily
four-on-the-floor/ like saying that Bloody Marys
and/or Screwdrivers are analogous-inert-systems
created by heart-meister Ben Carson and Babe Ruth
to deliver alcohol to the great unwashed.
Astringent. Hell, Mars needs women!

Trending, like a bee sting, like, like,
say, funerary ariae for dying swan[s], like
muons on fezBook shape-shifting to conceptions
of mystic trawlers cruising only the innerside of a
gin-ringed tyre in Astoria.  Or not.

Amtrak, SKY RANGERs, RukeyserS &

or fiery aetnas of fascinatin’ rhythm calling
Oral Roberts home. STELLA! Darkside,
parkside, any kind-you-want-side/ it’s
still barcarolle to me.

Shane! To live in the innertubes
of those we love. Cucamonga,
Flagstaff. San Bernadino.




1 thought on “glorious sticks shift, trending like bees out of orbit

  1. I’m instantly intrigued by the dual titles and the Sky Ranger dirigible pic. As a poet who seeks the lunatic fringe (succeeding sometimes), I am always in awe of Cocteau poems that blaze new trails with words, images, ideas, themes, flow, etc. It’s cutting edge stuff, and I enjoy the lacerations. I think Cocteau’s IQ must be 100 points higher than mine but I look up words and bask in his brainiac. Reading these sort of poems, I don’t try to make immediate sense out of it but read/reread and let thoughts come and go, and I observe my imagination which is delightful. Thx Cocteau!

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