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American Sentences
Organic Poetry
Comet Falls Corpse

Comet Falls Corpse




All this honeymaking makes for

a dizzy bit of deep love emerging, or

maybe a cymbal or a drum beat on

the stove turn’d off, libido off,

everything coils, roped in and taut

like a Cohiba burning a hole in his pocket,

or a pontoon arching its back and

laughing because the word “Doh” was

put in deep, below the muscle, where

the ache of dragging 871 pages of Whalen

up to the summit antlike and nest-

bound for a buzz of some kind, but

without acreage, pollination and its

                                          inevitable honey.




Having just wrested control of her bowels

she ricochets beneath the weight

of her sports bra. I say Wonder Woman!

She says: “I’d forgotten about the baby”

and he sits in mist from Comet Falls

while featureless crabs pinch sand,

catching wet, wind & September sun all at

once. Who survives annihilation of

poetry minds, strapped on

as if they awoke without mud in

their teeth, maybe a spot near the

hips, or the curve of buckles undone,

cast in stone just like these passing

states of “I.”

written w/ Meredith A. Sedlachek


9.06.08 – 3PM

@ Comet Falls