WELCOME TO THE GAS AGE

Reap week wall it
repays play dough
om doom Eeyore
out. Analysis no longer required

tearfully
displayed political
conviction from me
dia, specular agency

in inter
national markets defends capital
interest, let alone interest
in this with

out spelling it
out of
the game. The vet
bets the pet. Finch

hitters are quitters. Liars (tiniest nominalist
flinch)
walk? Coin
crumbles like the rest of it

spilling out, but for a hound dog’s
mouth. Convinced
‘if I cash my head
above the change

while I’m still far away
I’m in range’. Next exit
text haven. ‘Agents of change sign on
anyone.’ Anything? Zephyrs

to their lairs requesting
crosshatching for heritage status
blow job. Grease oozing back
as truth in accounting

firms’ pipes. Expressions
of thatchwork counterculture.
‘Your ducts and grease –
hicksville to me!’

‘Feeling exposed gives me narrative
balls-massage.’ ‘I’m a
pg retiree.’ ‘Free
Feed Feelings.’

But don’t counter your thatchwork before it’s well laid,
or go gormless into the rooter, the motor,
the router, the scooter –
metaphor

matching socks. Take a wheezer.
Multiply by national parks.
Add a buyout.
Then offer noun asylum.

As a great leavener of human sediment
the party’s ‘can do’ reactor
opens all fudged lines
tie-dying universals.

The soreshit enterprise life
still forms from Greimas’s grid.
A grey mass puckers open
‘and no plugs allowed … ’

Swab the grease.
Iffy cultural swabs
a place with taste
in Kahlúa with the law.

Lawyer yayas out
side. Flaps
jack looks up ‘bigfry’
in ideological dermis

– as charged. Massive
waste sitter
hangs the atom out:
hung-up in shingles.

‘Nothing’s left
inside except insides
of the outside, which are paid
for which you have to pay.’

Explains basement paranoia
about windows
and sign on door: ‘Stranger
lives here’. Lone

loan
lake lot
prop. – your prime
ticket charge’s skid

mark on the ass
vault and ‘gimme’ a sign,
shopworn
form extruded from

executive fineprint
in the haystack of freedom
to burp a camel.
The pompopus

came perilously close
to the ex
-it -ting
-uish or -tinc

-tion sign in the
lobby of love
where monitors roam
at the counting table

of Pembroke’s arcade.
‘Goes for broke
just keeps on
licking’ the papers. Canadian

de Sadeians
for the Pollution of Onlookers
invite you to their annual Gunny Breather.
Paralysis no longer required

series of substitutions
on backs of tried phrases
goes this far appraising
‘public’ language after ‘private’

structures social gaps.
‘Gunny Quilture Sacks Fall Lineup.’
‘Hemmed Still Ditches Uncertainty.’
‘Quitter Currents Jam Picnic Hopes.’

What they say the
lips parade.
A fall for it.
Composition wreathes.