by Dan Gutstein
The earth weathers the numerous isometrics of sexual rejection.
Who delivered this pulpy cantaloupe, or if you will, this melon of dubious fragrance?
Even the strongest radio channel flirts with the jagged frontiers of static; every exposure must penetrate the scrim.
The cold, quiet synapse-spaces that once conducted pain—as music—to the hemisphere.
Either the tree or the man might grow crookedly, the man rooted among the poverty of other crooked trunks.
A project dubbed “Move the Hillside” indeed moved the hillside to a secondary location dubbed “Secondary Hillside.”
The number of rusty vehicles the number of dormant vehicles the rusty dormant corner of town.
Light presides the percentage of light presiding the percent of impotent radiation.
Where ample sustenance coincides with the outcry for sustenance: reveal, to me, this arena.
Animals that would never contact one another—shrimp and bacon—assembled in the same sandwich, every day, in every city.
Oh, there are deer, but no woods; the deer idle at the outskirts.
A moment of astonishment before brute force, brutes applying tourniquets, et cetera, prevails.
Will the world evict us? Will you think about my hands?
The greater distinction hinges on saying Yes.