wake up, rod

Jingle Horse Mechanism 1. bushels of fun the clopping of dread bells. we pick up our feet and circle the target lot in loping ovals mirroring gulls, through cold wind and dry wind, sunwise. what we surround is solomonic, made of angry bristles and harness. bordering with black powder and salt and carrots julienned for the pursed leaves of bell lips. In bright sun and snowless storm, it rattles for sacrifice. now summoned, one of us has to purge this metal, jangling fuck. this abomination, with ringing bearings and marbles packed into a kind of flesh. Metal made life, pawing pavement and grounded gum in apprehension, in aggression. Equine bhangra on the eve of christ’s birth, the young men of southie heat their bike chains in the fire, cross their mothers, begin the lashing. now the jingle hop has begun. 2.  bell rock A child could lose himself in the giant ornaments of the Prudential Center. Hung from the corporate heavens with si...

Hey AD and B, KG and JP miss you!

of being . Don’t say  a little tongue kiss is too much  for you while your come  is still dripping  out of me. True,  I wear my hunger on my belly and I have worked  long days in little  jeans dirtying me with something other than shame. Come on, you knew this  about me. I want to orbital-force  play, rambunctious  rowdy rollick. Ramble on. Full stop feel. See these finger suckers and nose tip probe? And yes, good  God, I love pressing my lips  to everything. The softest skin of my Frisco thrums  where wrist nips forearm. But sweetly. Turn out the electric lamp and let the light in. Please, let the butter sun set lolly, lap up all the “oh” of you in this terminal after noon. I am not my father; I will not doze into death. Cut to a quick Houdini act, skipping all the way across the country, following dust ski...

Assignment: write a hymn.