She Told Me to Eat of the Baobab Tree

by Uncle Shimmy

I am blank for blank's sake blank
In a whisper and disappearing into calm
She hushed my sighs and woke me into slumber
Blissful and yet suffocating
With the feel of horsehair plaster
And the smell of sweet turpentine

And I am weak to say the least
Forgetting in a molecular second
Why it is that she tastes so sweet
In fields of dandelions and folds of skin
And handfuls of clothes ripped and torn
In stillness and peace

The sky dropped the sun to bluer hues then black
And bodies stick to each other in dusk's wet
It is there I lie to you
In a whisper and disappearing into calm

The Ordinary Way of Things

by Uncle Shimmy

Fabergé eggs revealed in spread legs
Coated with mayonnaise mustard and influenza
In a feverish texture of tongue, teeth, and cotton
Sweating inside thousand thread-count cocoons

And the cicadas serenade the light seducing the flies
To the ending of their wandering compound eyes
In daybreak, the chill conceals the evidence
Of last night's slaughter

Only to conclude that it was all fabrication
Of fervor and fever
And revelations of truth

Happenstance Bastards in a Telephone Booth

by Uncle Shimmy

In the good graces
Of claustrophobic eyeliner
I am caught
And suffocate in the smell
An orgy of sense
On warm skin

Smooth, I disregard the vibration
And she stops
To look into the abyss of utopian loneliness
Languishing in disconnect
I occupy space as singular
And pause

Swirling Sand Dunes Fighting for Air

by Uncle Shimmy

You are a terrible locust
Immune to any pesticide
Placed here by the Gideons
At some halfway-house motel
In rooms with wood paneling serving as walls
Separating the couple next door
From the sounds of their fucking and sweat

While the ice cream truck comes by
Too fast to catch
With its music playing in a cassette player
With alternating speed; slow faster slower medium
So much that the music sounds as if it is playing inside
Of a brain from a man named Abby

As the crow dismounts his prized $100 an hour trailer-park whore
While she lights up one of his full flavor, king emphysema sparklers
Pregnant with yesterday's rotten semen and toothpaste,
I see the swirling winds of a dusty sidewalk yellowed with apache clay
Contorting into the night mixed fantasies of prairie snow and chocolate marmalade
Abby is singing into a karaoke umami fugu machine
Exploding black peppercorn nutmegs of flavor
Just before the 4 hours elapse that Normal becomes a past participle of dead
Goodbye delirium
Goodbye whore
Goodbye crow
Goodbye locust

The Eyes of Forty-Four Grasshoppers

by Uncle Shimmy

So much for the rusty razor
buttering the crumpet
while pinned underneath a bus tire
garnished with hair and scalp wrapped around the axle

Beautiful blue and yellow flowers
dug up by metal and mixed with asphalt
planted in shoes dismembered from their limbs

Somewhere barefoot severed souls
decapitate themselves from ground beef torsos

The iron liver taste from someone else's rouge
catch between your lips with a side of warm congealed stomach fat
piped along with the scent of entrails
and sight of snapped necks, exposed joints and ligaments

All the while your seatmate complaining of some chair rail colonoscopy
And glass-compacted earwax
Cutting fingertips
Last rites are inevitable
Come join us now
All rise.