POST POSTMODERN POETRY

 

In your cage there are rare wildcats

I can’t look at because they frighten me.

You say you can sell them for a lot of money.

Don’t.

         …

Kissing a mirror onscreen

In a crowded room

The crooked line leads from somebody

to everybody.

It is drama waiting to happen.

         …

Mr. Dry meets Miss Smiley in an operating room.

They have China together

They play and sing on television

with a ring.

Mr. Dry dies to everybody.

         …

Light people believe in air.

They have less skin

That’s why.

         …

You and I are on the same floor.

We are like two cigars that like each other.

You are a hairless honey and I am ego-lite.

Don’t be a sad plant.

You have a yapper to die for.

         …

This adding machine doesn’t add up.

All we get are nutritious factoids.

Doctor Patience has no patience

And I have a wiggling gumline.

I don’t know whose vagina this is either.

         …

Cut up your life

Other words, other worlds,

Chrome creatures.

What is a man?

         …

You have an arthritic imagination

Like a bowl of dead cherries,

Or dented ping-pong balls on the floor.

You bring on a clanging attack of

Angry suction.

         …

Mr. White and Mr. Beige own a golf course

They are two watches that get along

In the green streak

On easy air.

         …

Every time I inhale in the sensory deprivation department

I get dry sickness and croaker facts, a real sore temperature.

         …

What do women want,

Earwax ecstasies or pizza vaginas,

Or just to lay down with the pencils?

         …

I am trying as hard as I cannibalistic.

Shoot me in the headache.

         …

Jinxed affection opens the box.

A truck is coming filled with cries for justice.

What’s worse than finding a roach in your meat?

Tit for tat is not a solution.

         …

The mask needs some sleep,

A selfie squat,

The perfect shower.

The best news pictures.

         …

Mosquito viruses,

That’s how they survive

A rich death.

         …

The first day of school

Turn over a new leaf.

Hammer humidity.

         …

At the heart of it,

Who cares?

         …

That is what they have in common,

Dads care about breastfeeding.

         …

Grim news to employees

Scarier than ever before.

You have to make people believe

It is significantly less miserable

than the leadership race.

         …

Weight-watcher drone looking forward

To scratching my package.

I’ m a jackhammer sprinter with an

itchy ear.

         …

Gluten-free people finger factories.

Brick wall cops the wisdom of the north.

What divorced aftermath rumour?

Celebrities pose the deodorized Buddha.

         …

Winner picks sleeping pick,

Masked lips, U.S. Walmart.

If you want to save money,

Tax backlash, bite Burger King.

         …

The drum is so bright,

The air-conditioner is loud.

         …

You don’t have to be

stranded in an unknown location

after 36 years of marriage.

For what it’s worth,

kindness is rewarded.

         …

Tony is alive or dead

grinding brown hashtags.

How do these people in dry skin

wet leaves in significant silent anger?

         …

The boredom factor is

the weight of what it means

getting out of bed.

Smiles collide dusty desk evacuation.

How much of this do we want to see?

         …

Are Canadian universities doing

enough Chinese writing?

Local police departments ban singing

and scientists in the overcast nightmare.

What to wear?

       …

Brion’s light complexion on the

Mexican border bareback riding.

         …

Brad and Angie,

pretty little liars heading to Mexico

on the wrong side of the road,

The Lighter family as

curly haired cuties in blue.

         …

You write your life story

when you’re young

and your hair grows fast.

         …

Hidden information is not an actual cloud.

It never stops bad news.

         …

A woman’s job sad in foreplay is

an air-conditioned nightmare.

         …

15 fictional teachers

that’s so last week it’s a

sleep cure brain freeze.

         …

Summer tweets a robot with emotions,

virulent homophobia on a frugal budget.

         …

The unforgiving heat

scares the leaves.

         …

I don’t know what to do

to cloud your judgement

until her rapist leaves.

         …

Photos leaked the blood of survivors.

Aluminium paper death justice will be served

in repetitive nausea.

—————–

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2 thoughts on “POST POSTMODERN POETRY

    • Trying out the cut-up routine invented by William S. Burroughs and Brion Gysin. The results are extraordinary sometimes. Thanks for your comment, John.

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