Year of the Junk

neck’s neck—
Grate Neck, Old Jersey—
the eyeball’d capitol of the wrld

**

my teeth and the other parts that don’t fit,
dread’s purple head

‘yes vacancy’
in pink cursive neon
and pink cursive steel

**

an inward cant to the lower part of my face,
an inward can’t,
a tension round the cranium up, a jaw’s jaw—
tweaked violins and a rumbling in my body’s earth
a plummeting down the mountain grimace.
we were born in the lower back’s swell, the neck’s neck.

**

wrung the
last silver dullard

**

a steel sculpture of myself
in this body of bone & flesh
the body occipital—
static and white noise and stress

i heard the world’s run out of rocks
and unemployment’s at 100%
long i heard the bodies keening
lumber yard and flesh and skyscraper’s crest

**

(i feel all smooshed-in)

**

the trip cross town proved too long,
we’d aged so,
developed a motion sickness.
the rides we used to ride
we could no longer abide.
see me so: dizzy, reeling, vertigo.
see me so: queasy behind the eyes and know.

i had to get off,
get a room for the night.
and tomorrow i don’t know.

**

won the
lost silver dollar