Obtuse and purblind. My moocow cannot moo. My lightened sigh and sight-eyed buys the thing we said we needed. I want of a way, like my moocow wants of pastures, ne'er sighted amongst growth that we can sow. A penchant for production. A make.

Revisitation of the thibehind. Flood back, crank that shit. The prince speaks in stereo, imagining what silence looks like. People talking in misplaced units, minutes for length, two miles from making bail, Eric was on the Road with the appreciative deceased. Eyes in the back of his head, calling the ringleader out. My nose is running, yeah? Here's one for you, "505-2814," coming back from the ER. Two days in a row. And what is this street, a stereotypical autumn scene? A obelisk of balls, automatons on the prowl. Clouds of butterscotch, I need a pick me up. The clank and shutter, inhale and get more: greasier, softer and more ductile. Cumin beings in the salsaria. Some of us get to bed at ten, and it feels good, dammit. Knowing upon whose treadmill we run. Waiting for the letter, creating the past, the love lost, the bonk and brull. My knees buckled and my shinbones laced. We'll see how We feel about it tomorrow.

October publishes August's poem

A Poor Remembrance of His dream
R.A. Stevesson

The conditioned air, receded from poor
Henry as he sits, he steams
And stives himself the way
He learnt from books and balls
And gin—against the roof, his mouth and
Moonlit summer’s flair for the abrupt

Ending things, spoke less much, he
Never meant for collision or coll-
apse, but Temptations harbored and
led him to await his next viaticum
Brooding at the Visions that escaped
The summer’s heat, burnt and belied

His eyes checked nothing, the stars
Would not align and the nigh-knocking
September stuffed the days,
Anxiety replacing the sundry happi-
Nesses that busy Henry found in
Friends and beer and brats and balls

From the lost scrolls of Bert, ca. April 2008:
Herpes has DNA, just like you. What makes you so special? Opposable thumbs. So next time you go bragging to the moocow that your genes make you blue, remember that the moocow has them too.

My moocow needs to awaken but my alarms don't rouse for sleep. Four more forward things press my snooze, forewarned of schisms in my dreams (of utopian pastures, wherefore my moocow needs more food and the shade of trees). You both protest too much. The broth is settling still, the bursted bubbles bale my lost sense of urgency, no boils or hail helm my anxieties, which brood on softer sinews in their complacent undulation between cud and other rumination. My moocow says she doth hear anew what you would have her chew. Poor Henry and Slim Jimmy sit stooped under the eave of the school, looking past the yard and upon one moocow Henrietta Decker, nee Bogglebottoms, who bursts with lactate and laconiac surmisions. She looks back wondering whose cud they chew.

Let us be Frankensteins and my moocow will be too. Ports of call, one last time before the lights go down, all aboard so we can watch this new batch of tricks. Honeycombed and enjambed as we drip from our seats, masking our music in mosaics of feet, on front lawns, porches and bathrooms we steel ourselves. I buy a cookie (I make a sound) and spank your earlobes. Waxing my moocow so that she will outshine you all.

Too Fish

These many marvelous Madeleines

They fill my thoughts and flood my brain

'Til can't but barely understand

What's lost or simply out of hand

Beyond my reach, above my grasp

I claw for clues but cannot clasp

Nor button tight, drawn up for night

What's naught but buried 'neath the plight

Of whims and hems and tears and throes

My Chuck Shaw meringue-ments

Belied but Malones

Hanged up on an operator, tosséd

beside thy zero-bellied bones