part II: my octopus lover

part II: my octopus lover
‘The basement is too far to go for Fudge Fanny’s fudge,’ read the famous memo.
Regardless, this (.), it is still a dot
Unless it decides not to be anymore
Unless it decides to become a line
To call itself a line
Listen to the melody. Have another cup or two. The moon hasn’t even risen yet.
Holes are the masters of form
because red /
is your favorite color
On his third visit the Doc cut those shoes off. / Said that was the best he could do.
My father
was bastard son of an emperor
I am
bastard son of an abbot
Those rococo narcocorridos or that blatnyak beat of hammers or chisels
– it all equates to a natural invasiveness such as the iris’ venomous leaks.
When he came here, they called him ugly. They threw rocks at him for the way he spoke his mother’s tongue.
Commentary by Tark Mackintosh folded arms The poet immediately sets the stage: Young Men’s Library Association members in tweed with crossed arms (never akimbo) prowl the streets of San Joaquin after imbibing deliciousness in the […]
Tree
Round
Cabin
Campfires