HOUSE OF IMPORTS
Was there nothing else
to make silk from
thought the last spider
rather uncomfortably
The horse you are looking for
already have go. What do
these pebbles tell us Chen,
which road did it take
Anita’s eliminating guesswork
Chen thinks, the eunuch
when bamboo features
a chased look
The horse felt cool
to his legs and hips. Invent enemy
space travel desirable?
Let me go for bridge
Stopped morning full rubber
Chen installed better
and Lipstick was his crooked she
(Anita) circled partly in skies
Tattooing a mean mask
with golden bits
the sun played against the side
of a falling tobacco leaf
Shots of animal colour
rotated Lipstick wet glass
perched on left-hand top shelf
the target
Target-breasted enlarged
and correlated species, types
took off, the peacock’s feather
swatted a friendly face
Weak food bullets hungered
a monk appeared and disrobed
in saffron did Chen,
the handler, appear
Made keeping elaborate hard
a nickel-plated toga
a cheap bunch of horseshoes
mint prison stripes are inside of
Safely held the disturbed rain
hat in season mixed and poured
another hand to take her
winter balm and coat essence
A tooled cistern
checks were nothing
might be all they need but
no fist had drawn breath
Her meal simply plucked Anita
fixed Lipstick, content as well
with the so-called westmaking
orange
Chen cocked
Anita plucked
his outstretched baton
with credit
Admitting his price when
hills filled with
a Spanish hoard dug
the helmet’s crest—fish scales on a Buddhist
Already immersed
to the tops of
gesticulating skyward, Chen dipped
his inner pilot in silence
Uncommunicative men
spelled out the words—
he captivates
ordinary swimmers
Chen sold the
palm tree sketch
his aquatic sculptures
followed
Amid a salad of
wilder capable sunsets
and a toothpick
fashioned into darkness
Patch buoy spared
leak die toss
one upset oar
came tap-tapping, thirsty
Out ripe hunger
got a free throw
but mistook the sea-chance,
and green-throated a segment
Totally tropical
a drank summer thing
galloped needing
no brakes, for coffee
And stashed a fair balance
under the overhang
a stiff headpiece
dis-treed, a roof joist
Anita coughed
she didn’t sneeze
but patted flower droppings to show
she’d port-holed a signal
Chen sleeps,
nice cover
such that he drew his own
blood with six Lipsticks
Two were stuck with cloves
Chen switched off his nose
and parked between blows
his refills out for Anita
The sneak tidal rose
eight feet
in length, like a sacred
prosthetic fin
His Lipstick, Anita
astride the anima
they’ll feel the dark build
across tepid windows
first thing
—
MILES CHAMPION’s books include Compositional
Bonbons Placate,
Sore Models and Three Bell Zero. His recent poems were published as issues of I
Saw Johnny
Yesterday and Tolling Elves. A chapbook, Six
of One, is in the works
from A Rest
Press, and a new collection is forthcoming from Adventures in Poetry
in 2007.
For the complete article purchase The
Sienese Shredder #1
Related article in The Sienese Shredder #3
Nine Poets edited by Miles Champion
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