Sandra Simonds/The Tar Pit Diatoms/10



T urned the turn-
of-the-century
Bildungsroman’s pages
to find Nancy Vamp from Toledo
singing the Tennessee Waltz
avec Goethe and Schiller
her fancy pants of pinks
(gaudy as Deutschland’s woods)
Dancin’ with her corny darlin’
through a torn conundrum
of corn.—tornado in each palm—
pressed like a violet to dry
between the pages of pressing onward
Pleasant-Condominium-of-Barely-There





Dear Mr. Bones:

They say what fits into a contraction stays contorted like bad drugs, but how many dead sparrows must you find on Mission Street before you finally throw your hands up and say that’s it, it’s pandemic. Of the overdosed unicycle you steer into a pavement of downers (red cents shaken from a paper bag palm) Circus arranges hands around the accordion dirges of spring. From elephant to flea: coupling goes forth ad infinitum on the urge flushed skin. Appetite’s migratory structures squishy as bone marrow. (Donor X has filed a complaint.) Cross- pollination dark and tight as a Victorian corset. No pox on the farm girls who pull Snowdrops up from their roots. In piecemeal fashion, write “I, the avian orderly.”

A ping-pong / champ so/ hip and beat as

urgent as / a rash / more dense than soy

her blow me / aways / kept too quiet.

Astroturf / caught up / in wildfire

jazz and pills/ surfin’ / hey man it’s cool

born-again? / from a / San Bernadin-

o ice-cold / gazing / California /

tinker-toy / truck-stops / submerged in snow



 
 
 
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