Just chucking mismanaged

aggression at everyone, some-
body chumming for love with
blood and sputum: recall now the
 
disco ball, your hate
but a spall among everything
                                         echoing
only slanting scarcely differently, everything
 
scars or scabs or doors or
blown-out tire tread trellising
over the shores of some
cramped crick Cair Paravel’s
pinned around, maybe your 
lost home town or the
hangdog groundwater 
welling up under the
pound sign expression of
tumbleweed discontent
or the tardigrade power plays peppering 
hesitant pleasantries, 
hen-picking,
everything
barely 
 
a mirror bent over a
basketball bounced, broke 
down to a puddle-sprawled
skin depicting scar-wan stars struck, some-
 
thing some shrill shart or hiccup dis-
rupts to the scuffle of color-
blot meeples im-
pinged in a nervous-
ly dervishing
skirmish or
tears of
rage run 
rampant across an old,
thrilling kandinsky moodscape crimped—this
 
leak of life leeched out of how many im-
maculate macular moodstones marbling
 
air, so unconditionally shifting, staking 
their claim upon straining stars while,
circling long-paved parkways, barking out
 
terms like, only god will love
                   unconditionally—
 
                   fuck the fruits—go
                   back to the motherland—all
 
of this screech owl jeering and garbling
starling song so simply, contemptibly, envi-
ably even, entrenched in an
eddied ascent about
everything even a
pothole depicts 
more pure and
cleaner than
this or that
or this or
what
 
was this impetus thrumming the tortuous
tongue, like a corkscrew stuck in a-
ttempting to tickle the skiff 
from the jug or the
house profoundly
bound twixt 
scotch-
taped
finger-
trapped
bottles,
some science
fair fodder incensed
to present but a storm 
more rather than placid and 
taciturn, bottle-cracked bights and
tides delighting in styling shorelines—
shorelines, frames, soft serifs some
beet-stained name’s hemmed in with,
tabards and tack and the match 
stick tackiness thatching the
long-hallowed Hapsburg chin
or the conibear jaws of the
squirming House of Bourbon
bent into murders of bloodclots—chortling 
sanderlings striding in time with the tide to 
mock the knock-kneed
bob and weave of a 
weevil-wobble 
Cuchulain 
puking, 
 
exhausted with even the 
thought of foregoing in-
cestual onslaught, sinking a 
rusted knot of recoiling 
bumbershoot rebar over
but yodeling totems of 
froth and delicate, libertine,
gawking and lawless flotsam
 
what strained shadow doffed 
floundering
evermore
heavenly,
heavily,
tepidly,
shore-
ward—