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.