
stick wackle the loaf ode
room for those stars, too
milky way simult.
swinging hard like a merk
half slathered with glue and doom
there will be one minute of silence
after the explosion
fingers on my feet
cutting polaroids from a loaf
I hit 99 and the coffee was making me talk
the soap is a little rectangle
how long until my hands are clean?
smells like pea sprouts
in case of emergency contact the moon pirate
when you were something like a robot with ears on the planet of earth
I have the keys to the kitchen sink
IT STINKS
za tree fork P/ plus
staunch reptile
and that was that until the doubts started creeping in
high above the city the robotic vultures were circling
we took it to the wall every night and tried to see thru it
your chains dragging should tell you that
look at me now with my gills and water pants and no ocean
forest grockerly until notice of federal nachos
would you prevent a cavity like crest toothpaste for astronaut powers?
a new love of the cosmic goose
what is the dream number of this toast?
the rook is now a diamond of the same eye
in sheets the rain was a powerful ghost and goose
that hurts our chances of learning the moon numbers
time to separate the numbers from the apples
to wonder aloud about the suns
a new window of the rookie forces
the saint of the clock
we get that hank of the heaven
the game of the wild face
the shimmering face of christ
tree grease
the sports tomorrow when I am that old drac
get there with that morning hand
that long acre of the simian tree for butter
do you need to climb a window for the grief?
we need the green tree to stop
the meteor knows why I was the heart
why is the ark of the natural earth of the egg?
would you like a lark of the pumpkin?
the heart of the bagel
to start with that help is the halo
the muscle of the chart of detergents
the tight window of the spinning eye
to win a window
the natural useless face
would you like that head of the cheddar wheel to speak?
we are the rose of the caramel jump
going back to see that friend of the fridge
milk or mud?
J. D. Nelson (b. 1971) experiments with words in his subterranean laboratory. More than 1,500 of his poems have appeared in many small press publications, in print and online. He is the author of several collections of poetry, including Cinderella City (The Red Ceilings Press, 2012). Visit Madverse for more information and links to his published work. Nelson lives in Colorado.
More of J.D.’s work can be found here on Ink Pantry.