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Walter Burns

av(Ant-Guard

if, no matter how
high-te(a) ch
you get
God is backwards
compatible
like remembering a lyric
instrumental.
death.cab installing
sprouted poesies?
spray av(Ant-Guard

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Good morning america

Good morning America.
You already fucked this poem once
Don't do it again.
Good morning America
Your radio waves soothe me
but again I can't beat the bullshit out of bed
and last nights dreams face elimination.
The deejay's throat is silver lined phlegm
the moon is a lozenge stuck in the
sphincter
and he plays white zombie
for me
I phoned it in last night
and it was him
the same voice around the clock
around the dial.
The new 100.3 Xerox
Americas hits of the millennia
over and over again
add nausea.

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poem by Walter BurnsReport problemRelated quotes
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Between Legs And Logs

leaning forward
into the monitor,
the back legs of my office chair,
deserving a metaphor,
something on the lines of:
'erect like the asses of my lover',
left the ground like captain antilles.

i peered
-no-
i searched for the answer.
skimming blogs
and googling
recently deceased poets
anthems,
their bios.
anything i could glean.

the lyrics from odelay

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poem by Walter BurnsReport problemRelated quotes
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On The Impossibly

on the impossibly taut emphatically phallic
runic measuring tape of Time
two homo sacred Road Scholar 'toons
have been unwittingly mashing the plastic button of Infinity
till its bashed in skull relents and breaks free
of all the candy and confetti promised
by the eternal ages
(indeed that of a three foot plastic key ring tape measure could possibly hold)
with great euphoria these two predestined scholars skid back
to where their timepieces simply combust
rather artlessly
in the future mind you
they wept at the sight of God and two chained six eyed dogs
snap their hypodermic needles in
anticipation of devouring the meat thrown to them by Yahweh
the decider of Fate who in 7 days laid a massive cage
for the unevolutionized monkeys to procreate coagulate and masticate
every unterritorialized shred of chewed up sofa cushion they could get their thumbs on
and in so doing revealed a button that hurtled them into the 21 century as brain children of Satan pass the salt preparation H(ell) is not the cure all
pushing that plastic button gets them candy not confetti

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poem by Walter BurnsReport problemRelated quotes
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