Jay Snodgrass

The Collapsible Bride

In the end I've collected
Enough spare teeth and noodle wrappers
To rest a foundation on
The everlasting cylinder

Pounding out a square
Of denuded soil, surrounding
A hole in the wall a world
Could slip through

A weight of squirming
Canvasses, oils in separate

Baggies of eyelets twisted off.


This wing, this wind, insipid detecting
Failures as a motion sensor
Situated in my apartment situates
Insects passing, the evacuees of time,
Homilies of my lifetime interred
Pulped time, fragment in my eye
I witness my own distress, failure
Impugned through a lamp like
Insisted furniture, nailed down.
Electric is arbitrary. This has vague
Relation to insects, and observation
The up-drift, a profile with nostril
In marble, the columns on a bank,
The watching of the escaped pose.

Triple Orange Blister

Acting in the procession to rubbing out
Of limbs, fruit of six blackness-es,
Movies green with monsters or ability
At comfort like grass in a memory
Or a hill infested with ants, subterranean,
The gardener, a knight, looms
With his organ of poison beams
Spritzing a dollar bill and a photo
Of a child crumpling to the sun's memory
Which excludes carelessness, favoring
One law: interminable protection,
The eye in me, in for it, an execution
In wind and clearing out of swamps:
The prayer wheel in a chemical shower.

High Intensity

Burning through the clouds
Or the clouds just burning along
The pipe lines, there is no fog
There is a fog named
Highway, eternal combustion

Tendency above the swamp
On collapsing concrete bridges:
One wire, two wires, concepts
Of falling into vats of open
Open connectors, high voltage
Connectors of hair and burning

And wounds measured
With calipers set to hypersensitive
Closeness like the sky burning


My day is a car of genius
In ten half ton mornings.

I drink a cup and take a look
At the birds crumbling out
Of a storybook light

The grinding starter precedes
A plastic bowl

Of discreet

Cheekbones or cadences
Made on the bone

Like offerings of a resurrected
Human saint, the kind of thing

A car would pray to.

e-mail the poet at snodzilla@hotmail.com
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