J. D. Nelson

we are the argent in the buckle

is this the same old bull
               that walked by the window
                              at uncle jim’s farmhouse?

I am a rumbling machine
the carryover is the lost ankh of the delta

to a confused apple
a laugh is a glass answer

a serving of dust

a pyrite hammer to smell the world

to prove that there is a sun
I’m cloning a napkin using space dust

to enter the heavens
I’m having the graphite talk

               having a laugh in the brain forest
               I have been considering the moon

your serious eye
your lettered

böhme (the light)

trim the tooth

a miracle now
la cruz

the meter of the secrets
an iron clown watering a bug

a mile in the air
this is the eye, too

at dusk
bleeding scientifically

welding dave is the grandmaster of the parthenon

see that elf?

               today is the clean day

see the glass of the gnome?

               science is the wealth of the planet

               the wall of beards is confusing
               I’m singing the song of the frog

I’m mining the world of the bees
I’m driving a meteor

juneau a little week
that serious rabbit

the third wig

the scientific mushroom is a crooked lark
it is the brush of the computer

the silo on mars is my circuit
I’m changing the bread of the world tonight

I’ve seen the sun set
I’ve peeled back a layer of my talking hand

combining the wheat and the paste
forming a larger jupiter

the eeling of the computer
the wow for too long

               the salad earth is the footprint of jehovah
               the mild salsa earth in the corner of the blown mind

ok labor in heady laramie

the garbled smoke in the silence
I am the broken dollar of the coin-shaped radio

                              the hum
                              the ice

without the rose
I know of the bee

I went without the sun
I went without the ice, without a star

wrapped in the quilt of the frontier
the soup eats itself

the spoiled coil and the dada fink

that dollar bill is the agent of the carp
the strand of the frappé

               we are 
               the lifebuoy name of the extra ham

weaving for the folk of the stars
the grass is the knife of the pig

the youth grape
a neighbor
                              the wild hero

the low saint of burgers

good morning

power is your morning, no morning
that same face in the twilight

               the x-ray namor of the prawn

saturn locke is the shadow of the head

                              one heck

a boiling noun (to my delight)

I am looking at the lake
is the martian air in your hair?

               do you care?


today is tomorrow
an insect is on my screen

the tomato of tonight
the cry of the apple

the crumb of something
the elmer of the emerald

you’re silent
do you know of the burro?

when dracula plants the grass
we can copy the dna

J. D. Nelson (b. 1971) experiments with words in his subterranean laboratory. His poetry has appeared in many small press publications, worldwide, since 2002. He is the author of several collections of poetry, including Cinderella City (The Red Ceilings Press, 2012). His first full-length collection, entitled in ghostly onehead, is slated for a 2021 release by mOnocle-Lash Anti-Press. Visit http://www.MadVerse.com for more information and links to his published work. Nelson lives in Colorado, USA.
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