star of the sea who hast the moon to thy skiff grant us thy mean tabernacles along the coast where the silly combers play and thrive the little known shipwrecks charted on the Coast Guard charts you can pick up for the journey miles and miles away to the far island that is a paradise of sorts a league of gentlemen as in a way you are too attendant stars buckling together male and female parts anyhow for the voyage
lazy brand x
in thy private diary for the necessitate entry I find the following
dear Henry and Diana suffice to say things had following the downpour of events not lasted as well as may be expected beyond the well known and endured wear and tear of normal expenses so would we well manage to ourselves it behooved us to appropriate some cover which we duly did and made a jolly ourselves admit it ruck of the whole business and moved on this is war and we knew it when we had signed on and the little red light started flashing on and on in the studio rooms of very quiet ourselves in the gelatinous stews and broken-down palaces little recked anymore or heeded by anyone you look away from sights of this magnitude of ill
we see to that love Jim
lyrische suite
pompous dedication that's what we all need like the poetry dedicators or the rule says thy studio says die on the well-intentioned payroll schedule we'll have some screen time on time for your next of kin to ponder at the first next screening and maybe the one after that
they burned to the ground what they could not find appealing and replaced it with a solid appellant
and waves of green enclosing with a bullseye all the balls cascading waves of green
flak jackets
nervous tendons grab a pinch of snuff
and tweak the very noses of the well-to-do ne'er-do-wells on the street occasioned by our listlessness you know the one
no not the bank preserve gilded and re-gilded lily of the painted floor and diaphanes where the would-be witness in the box remembers nothing and here is the neighborhood hero
no this is the drag races and barn dance you would not attend so lonesome the cowgirls drive the head into the gully bellowing
Christopher Mulrooney has written poems and translations in Prism Review, Salamander Son, Cake and The Tusculum Review, criticism in Blue Fifth Review, Small Press Review and Parameter
