Incoherent Limousine, (for Lautremont)

twenty-two miles to go
before the light bulb
cracks the yolk of an egg
without a smile going on
and on about how great
the sand feels between your
toes and dissolves of all
things your neck tie and
your inhibitions

no submarine
no thumb-tacks
no hispanic discussion
no quiet incoherent
no yellow limousines

twenty-one miles to go
before christ begs at the
foot of the cross and
lautremont continues to
promise to make promises
on paris’ left bank
maintaining his human
element maintaining his
biblical infamy his
historical obscurity

-k taylor

The Visual Blasphemous 

strange

a laugh in a blue hall
the milk crown of
intercourse sand and
a degenerate atmosphere
of symbols in constant
constructive motion

his wristwatch checks
his blood pressure

the sun dial is silent
weeping like simple
division or the anatomy
of a jail cell on the
beach flat and tired

of davinci tears
calm quail songs
automobile inquiry on
the brink of sheet rock
discovery

he met god for lunch
and could not decide
if it was polite or not
to take the check

he is cough syrup
he is a dog in madness
midnight scratch welfare

good night, said he
good night, replies the wallpaper
and good night, says the
shadow to the figures of
antarctic bliss, you’ve
come a long way, had a
hard day

-k taylor