Heath Brougher


Fish

Is gonna spinoff hinge
you character you I got smoke
in my eyes as I say this through
the fingers; firebomb, brilliantly illuminated
Baghdad like a temporary Vegas, the baby crawls out
of the house and digs holes by the toxic creek;

just don't know; weep; to; wander the blubber
of the many and the massive of the bibelot;
here forsage juniper; ringaround the pussy; jeered
my life was spent being
and
                           now
                                  the
                                              fucken
                                                                            braincyst
                                                                            cystbrain envelops; whaleswallows;

no wonder the open spaces are flounder and coarsen;

I've got so many pieces of paper that I'm
never
gonna use;                           you can have my teeth
the yellowen of my teeth
matching the color of the white walls
slowly
turning yellower
in the nicotine-flavored air; carpets
and drapes
and my fleshen eyedrape has trouble descending
when the braincyst pulses
me into a life of six days
a wake in
a row.



Another

blades blains make chain

cinnamon roll rools real tight

                                                            and nearby when rowling


                                                         several hats and so few heads

it wanted me to type headlights there

so I did—        I did it acause it said I ashould—

                                             yeaNO this stalwart bulwark of words

                                                            maybe isn’t so stalwart

as we thought on the level of original

the original way we thought of it

before we changed our minds

                                                                           no sapphire

                                                                            no Sapho

                                                                            Saphrow

                                                                             Saffron

                               contaminated creekwater and the fields are on fire


gear get the wires outta the dust of the fields—

they could burn on fire if that rubber melts

or plastic

or whatever

blankets anything

that could catch fire.



Heath Brougher lives in York, PA. and attended Temple University. He has been previously published in BlazeVOX and Uut Poetry; is currently putting the finishing touches on two chapbooks and one full-length book of poetry, as well as writing a book of philosophy.
 
 
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