Matt Johnstone

 

 

 

"what makes one corner gray,

a palm tree from the next"

 

 

chewing works for water buffalo,

I am tired of chewing                                       skully skull,

                                 of hardwood floor      - offline bleachers

Garcia Lorca shot and dumped,

a Spain,     an olive tree        a crown is a chop lid,

 

Oswald takes Kennedy, Ruby takes Oswald,

its all very clean, the same doctor sees all men

walk around,       mumbling  on-his-breath ...modern ...times, 

         the lid must be kept down

 

I am confused Kurt

Vonnegut   Kurt          Kobain; I am confused

what the woman was walking

was a dog   or child?

 

the thing to remember is  the lost electric thizzle, a pseudo-air

you sniff at   &thenthink  what you were thinking      immediate regret,

the motionless heap of audience, walkers

caving into each other,          us people live like dogs

 

at once he was massagging her  knife spine    really

andthen  consoling her of rape -

                                               nobody can deny the vampirical beauty of flowers

 

brought in a shiny brown kitten

they sat down & cried really it was just a sick gigantic bat

 

will you be a chair

or a  seat in the newworld?,   or a big blue swimming pool interfering with

native resources - again &at  once  there was talk,

        

                                               los diablos del rio

 

cat-painted birds,                  ecstatic,

                                    surrealist pieces

 

 

 

 

"...for dream branded a threat..."

 

 

         tossing coats in the heavy                        I took you with them

wind rainday review of the permits                  for dream branded a threat                                                

 

the wind blew the band music away, the widows the sea left core-strength for

slacklined across Lost Arrow Spire,

                                                        getting coffee past man with getting wine

                            articulating, now grace the cover material

         keep away, I'll spill you all over this room good trout,

        

 

in the red show curve the bull and the horse have their

business, the matador is too slow, before the building completed the architect

ruined                  because      flies do not attach   

 

a lance shooting in the sky

         a man without his shirt is a javelin, the candle work burns

                  

                   so much for Ice, streets water this whole place out  of                          order

         a 'flashmob' has mounted - dedicated to the coda

that infant coil until there is

horn in your spine

where  "muerte!" must've come out the other side

 

 

 

 

 

 

"crackpot metropolis thirst"

 

if it is hot

the shadows inside the cities are people

it is too hot for provincial alleys

or conductored, shooting spurs

 

 

shot full of gunshot,

"i do not know if all cops are poets"

if he had a heart in his body it floated upon tea

 

sift

 

theres a fire in the pipe and i  dont   want it out

 

shave for "whom now the night was making ripe for death"

         for whom we are to start saluting each other now?

         for whom a sad heat stirs the bayou to shreds

 

 

 

 

 

 

See You at 12 Noon: suspend a water balloon above each shooter using a

tissue and tape. (shoot the tissue with your gun until the balloon breaks

free, "if your enemy thirsts...")

 

 

the mexican sheriff's unusual method finding out whether bodies were down the well, but you had got away

 

“it is red in here” he was repeating

“i don't want it, lemme go back, i changed my mind, lemme go”

 

“remember this picture”

“the figure is your position” when the room swats at you

you were mosquito-hawks

 

 

we were a detectives coat

we get to the top of waterfalls and we looksit the otherway

 

 

in praise of cowboys,

“a Thank You that is smeared mustard on a surging McRonald swing trash face,”

 

this from a larger whole,

“dying went out in the 90's”

 

 

“there's just no room,

we all know what ATM means”

 

abstract fish spit in the eye,

the hood of a cobra extended, grew bulbous, jerked, went limp, fluttered its last time

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Do not believe in the view."

Go out shoot the landscape a pure white.

Farther than guns will go.

 

 

our passenger may not care at through

grid of useless glass

there are now guns that reach to let you shoot at yourself

 

the driver through the graph

made of the shield which is a window

ours can be a project of finding blanks

there are now guns that let you shoot at others without guns

 

 

streetcars hiss eyelike today was fine to fill yr lungs to

there are now guns that let you shoot only in the viscinity of other guns

 

it is quieter more and more is nonverbal

the fires pumping in my front lawn i see from the tubwater

whose murky temperature will wash the ash of morning coffee in the mughand

there are now guns that let you shoot only in the company of friends who will not shoot back

 

if light under tree were a flipping streetcar and not thunder from a homes driveaway none of you is for us, sorry