FRANCIS BACON’S BRAINS
& I would say
I would like
to pick up
that check
but the check
is downtown which
is opposite of where
we are at
pick up that check another day
but I would have liked to
pick up that check today
or the day ‘fore ‘cept it
had not yet been issued & when
I say LIKE
I am being polite
it’s more like
I NEED
to pick up that check
because there are books
to be bought drinks to be
swallowed & food to be
consumed ‘cept let’s this list
in reverse cause I am
hungry & I’ve gone hungry
& I’ve subsisted on swallowing
air & renaming it
mushroom stuffed ravioli in a
truffle cream sauce ‘cept it’s
only air which has no taste
except hints of taste
which are metallic
& are probably pollution
of the tongue tip
of death
but I swallowed I
swallowed & I called this
a life
so if
I get
that piece
of paper
& if I can
exchange
that piece
of paper
for another/
other papers
then I will
exchange it
for a product
the product
of my choosing
would be a burrito
a burrito as big as my face
& I take that burrito
& put it up to my face stinking
& spilling of black beans
& rice & sour cream & gauc
& as if blinded by the bigness
of the burrito
the cheese
heat drenched so I
open my mouth
super wide as in
my mouth open REAL WIDE
so wide bones gush out enough
bones to bust up Bacon’s brains
from his sleep of death & there are Ensor’s
curiosity shopped bones in antique white
& all the bones from Kara Walker’s
work comes on dancing
right on out so go head
say savage with my macho open
I’m so sorry
but I’d prefer if you stay shut
so I can eat this burrito
*
but you want to scrape
my eye for unblossomed blooms
but my eyes are the boon of boom-
making & boom going so go
ahead again & come close again
I’ll set this here burrito aside
starvation makes me sympathetic
or so some say
& in my eyes you see
the red of skin the displacement
of indigenous & oh here
come the ha-ha’s in hat
of hot-house flowers
bloom gone boom
the red has been forever
the smoke just so
lovely a tint
of tinge
in a sky of
this so go ahead
again go ahead
& stutter utter it forth after
all the sun is soon setting
in the anus of the statist
& the cellos soon being abused
by a bunch of
yesteryear’s shot-hot
hot-shots in clown face
& oh the strings lose
all semblance of a tune
which is where my burrito
& wide mouth bone spilling
mouth begets gats
& beginnings beginning again
& oh the strings
& oh the strings
& oh the strings
lose all semblances
all semblances
semblances of
lost all tune
& oh the tune
& oh the tune
& oh oh the strings
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