Chris Murray

The Idea of Border

"and then to lie like deer tracks"--Richard Brautigan

of the spare
dissimilar the flesh
of plum
at one more haiku snow or
your two lovely temples

abundant the break
in the ball--
a joint is a place
of eight ball,
beer & ache

in the brow change, the pay
phone of our booth to do

warm platinum nape light
hold on

whose ear will
not border the idea sounds
of the dove
of the will
of its own

a navel water tear
will answer

next is shift
pubic automatic

& the ones who rake on through
to the other

slide in yellow petals
of the immense to
survive this

summer cotton as woven
slight ridge
under the thumb

of gray available
preposition of

blossom of afternoon
to decide
to hold
your thigh

my breath
between this rhythm

rounded off
on each
graze of tightening

where this naming is
drunk as vintage fruit
flies on your amaretto
by member

Hysterical Homunculi

live in the gulf treading water in backyard pools laced with 50-proof biblebooks, the locks of their Chem Pro green hair swiftly whipping droves of mosquitoes from the finer darts of sex & lies at a rate of 1000 per second, commissioned by a grand jury which is still sequestered in Dallas over serial questions of ho & mo. Hysteric homunculi shine out of railway backyards & Oklahoma with halos & anonymous writings pressed between emerald beads & a renewed interest in the emergent, lace-veiled authority of Homer, never losing a hardliner nerve, nor softest of virginities, nor a news beat between church and grocery aisles, while singing rousing praises of the men and arms of Texan politicos, or else spending their money on brand new Hum Vees & nightly dreams of the perfect gasoline once spilled fruitlessly on potholed ground. Hysteric homunculi are not related to Amazons of Wall Street or Washington but are directly descended from the cloud of unknowing & could, so have hunted naked the shifting alpha-bet-males who circle back to follow, beating loudly their Mitty conundrums in poetics reminiscent of baton twirlers and football pom pom worshippers. Please send your bucks as soon as possible to the Preserve Hysterical Homunculi Fund: they are a dying breed which PBS has offered to feature in a special fund drive-over, so to preserve forever the sweet nothings of this dwindling national treasure, these ever accommodating hysterical homunculi, living in dire straits during these times of absolute emergency, the pain and shame of our continuing U. S. consumer adversity.

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