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AMUSE BOUCHE-EVIK, or, SOVIETS PASSED: She was laughing, but now she’s eating Lenin. A cry and--contemporaneously, in the hammock of a midday glow--Dae crawled. Rocking and revving her will across the rugged DuPont Stainmaster to a figure who once ruled a foreign mother. A chaotic line of events took shape when Lenin toppled and took a circular roll to his role as an infantile culinary experience. Where am I? Where have I been? Thoughts raced around the knotted tarmac in my mind. Where am I g...

Alabaster jalapeño I can’t swallow. You blind and you sting me. You’re sexy and you’re kinky. I want to be your monkey, But you flung me from your tree. My eyes are watering. I don’t know what you want. I thought I was right, But something is wrong. All along, all along. All along I was wrong. All alone in the con. All feeling is gone. Along, along. Along. I’m wrong. Alone. The con. Feeling. Gone .

You are Tigris. I am Euphrates. Between us, The rich atomic ingredients of a fruitful future fizz and fuse. Possibility is ripe— Fussing and fuming and pining to POP And push fragile buds Through fertile womb To the great blue. Between us, Fibonacci needles shoot from shoots To prick possibility; To satisfy its sadistic insatiability And give pleasure to its pain. Let the voyeur’s eyes perspire And delight in the trickle down of our upshot. Between us, Creation brings light And trades the eye...

Nature-borne man. Nurtured ever away From man. How unbecoming. This departure cannot be Evolution. It is growth. Not of trunk or rings, But bare branches. Nurture is branching And Bonobos are swinging From wooden departures of man, Like Capitalism manifested. Nurtured Joneses jonesing for More Jacksons. Another twenty for another one Is unbecoming. This is not to say one should not seek wealth. Unbecoming is not simply affluence. Nurtured-man has simply lost innocence And taught his children ...

The filthy, beautiful patio. Abreast of life’s grit and color. Abreast myself, saluting the action. Beautiful, filthy, braless breasts bounce beguilingly by. A seasoned fellow—homeless— and a panting pack crane. I, too, crane. We all smoke. The homeless fellow tells me, “Everything’s so high. It’s all so high.” He runs from wrath. He's right. It’s all so high: The mountains—natural and created, Expectations, Goals, Limits, People (especially the homeless fellow). From the gutter, The panting ...