In the Lords Name
The apple must fall up.
Earth’s the happening planet.
Someone’s got to take the hit.
The only fossil in this soldier’s world is
my mother-in-law, take her please please.
Add to my burial chamber every Woolworth’s clerk
to help me find a Teflon rose-colored 9-inch zipper.
We of the Americas are strong-personality serpents,
devouring squealing ocean liners for Sunday brunch.
Oh the textures!
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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 28 | Spring 2010