Aught, no. 8 (2002)


Clayton Couch

two minutes (of your time)

for the future, remember the labeled grub.
yes, the real world is an opportunity, but
the falls are slippery and so many dynamos
are left unmanaged. the fish cannot recall
the inventions of history and Tesla's mystery

is an angel. all the times of heaven are
falling to the West and death is just one
more subdivision in the American Dream,
unvisited - perhaps, but the canister on
the street is not going to be dumber

tomorrow. plastered to the brick wall,
the citizens have - laughably - forgotten
how to ask a question. warm weather
is my friend, baby. give me lightning
and a couple of launched out elven

theories. geysers killed the string of
ghostly dust clouds. black hole puzzled
molecules and sought the dissolution
of cabled life. oh sure, lucifer principle
strikes it heavy. memes cancel out the

phantom, and the crop circles the human
group, ravenous pack, into a sickled cell
in a burnt-out starlight prison. search
for extraterrestrial life, but first conceal
the blisters on the bottom of your feet.

the fringe of science — science fiction
is the antenna of science? blasphemy
is a fundamental fallacy. glyph — kind
and answers — this word into reality.
stimulating answers to simple ages.

massive disruptions to religious caves,
where all the crazies hang out. god,
the humans aren't just nuts, they're
completely wrapped in aluminum foil.
why do these callers all have lisps?


Weekday Revelation

and again and again

                                                                                                    another pattern emerged
                                                       from canopies of twisted sky


and cities stopped

                                        action of day
                                                           and cars scrapped against guardrails


                    and smokestacks blasted song
                                                                  where soot once pushed


                                                                        I


                                                                                               and birds chirped new words
                                                 in quickened feathered tongues


and children smelled
                              the sweetness
                                                    of burning light


                                       turned solid
                                                  by the altered glass
                                        of broken
                                                                               windowpanes in schools


Copyright 2002, by the author. All rights reserved.
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