Year of the Junk
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
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.
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.
lost silver dollar