Division St. Row(Fish)

Guppying, grappling,
in behesting a glass-
parallel planular fleeted
with a white-blue, down-

slope recoiled on
that forty five,
roiling sink edged
over-above mind’s

illustrated skate black
(nullity under flesh-flap),
filigreeing-on an empty oracular
lime-limbed socket stop.

Before Farce

A fakebook filled in cacophonous notation
lands open, sits in wet, wrests gaze
with black sediment
away from lighter
draughts of love.

This phonograph flattened album,
conspicuous to spin, danceless
unquestioningly-

a family missing
reason for music.

I’m talkin’ politics,
personally-

he who
gets it
or what is
sweats out,
listening-

to be more earnest,
caring-

especially as
buttoned down,

and muting.