FOR A FEW WANDAS MORE
According to the Order
A secret Wright
Brother named Wanda
Remains alive -
He faked his death
And stole a hypersonic jet
To soar uninhibited
Through hysterical ozone
Of dazeish machinations
And mirages of baking
Desert clay therein -
By night the Order
Commands brass bullet
Casings primed with talcum
Powder and lint
Their sponge fists wrapped
Loosely with used fabric
Softening sheets
The plumes of downy
Cotton balls loaded
Into a velvet cannon
And shot in your general
Vicinity -
The Order intends to cut you deep
Or cause a fiber rash or worse
(Their vampire fangs blunted
And covered with supple
Ambrosia boots
May cause light red marks
On your neck) -
The Order can hurt you
And hurt you bad
And you’ll never feel it -
They’ll pile pink
Popcorn packaging
Up over your head
Until you disappear -
They’ll force you to run
Your hands vigorously
Through raspberry bushes
And you’ll probably get
Some splinters -
The Order has you where
They want you
Squinting like an idiot
At letters on the wall -
The Order wants you
Alive and dead like Wanda
Breathing your last breath
Forever so you never die
And the oxygen never
Runs out -
This is their scheme:
A passive murder
That never really
Transpires
FOR A FISTFUL OF WANDAS
Require clarification
Yet offer none -
Write something vague
Or intentionally
Contradictory
And expect them
To understand -
Recline
In your posh chair
Oiling the Uzi
Dry firing it
Reading the letter
Wanda wrote aloud
‘I shall bring you
to sun and moon
for holy ones
are with you, child’ -
Yet Wanda Bat splashes
Triumphantly
At the shores
Wretching and hacking
Dying for some sign -
Liquid bullets explode
From her cortex
Leaving pools of holy
Water intact on a slick
Of bliss crystal
In a vein of reefer
Mined from the loch -
Now Wanda strikes deep
At golden swales
With each pirouette
Spawning psychic
Revelations
Of netherworld
Empires
And Coricidin bottles -
Wanda utters heresies
To signify
The absence of salvation
Or wielding
A nuclear
Taser
WANDA THE COMELY ONE
Say nothing
And listen to this:
Jah Luna strides
Like a man should stride
When he’s headed
For the clean port
To obtain synthetic
Ecstasies -
An explicit cure
For all anxiety
Reminiscent of dangerous
Vacillations forever bound
To the fissure
Of Doctor Wu -
His path is very difficult
And complicated
For one might mistake
Luna’s grisly hobble
As a blessing
Or cosmic boon -
Luna wrangles
The balmy punk
And subdues him
With gooey elixir
Wanda brandishes
A purple tinted light saber
At your solar plexus
The whoop ass
Of whoop ass -
Your hush captured
By the algae
Of seeping grottos
On far North lands
Promised to bitter snow -
Yet Jah Luna has long
Forgotten how to read
The Neptunian runes
Of Cushnoc town
Of head tide
Of Popeye colony -
He gracefully staggers
Like a king of the world
Might drag his girlfriend
Swiftly through a bonfire -
Please hang on to small rays
Of hope you had
As a boy
Let it be
Your unfolding
With peace and guidance
THE GOOD THE BAD AND THE WANDA
James T. Kirk struts arrogantly
Down Brighton Street
Like a specter
From The Diary
Of a Drug Fiend
Or maybe
Penthouse -
The image
Of Rue de Marc Avenue
Etched upon
His third eye
Scratching the lens
Whipping up
A pale froth
For the vile armies
Of Wanda Bat -
Cretins tote Uzis
Dribbling silver mercury
From baked carbines
The bare ass barrels
Glistening in subterranean
Magma glow -
Wanda the comely one
The existential reaper
Subverses her high green tiara
Encrusted
With yellow diamonds
Gold dust oozing
Betwixt her voices
Where she formulates
Her radiance
For Wanda loves
The third eye
More than all the others -
Abandon a flock
For the darling three
Freak a holy vision
Postured at the edge
Of a crumbling cliff -
Uproot topology
With her settingless chasms
Of the port city
The clean port
Chided by gray goose ghouls
Where she descends
To find
Her ecstasy
Again and again
AGENT LUNA
Herein coddles
The obfuscations
Of mythological
Jah Lunas
A manifold set
Chiming spirits
In the willows
With a Joe Plouffe
Of many confabulations -
A vast presence
Transpiring
On Christmas Day
The lord of whom
Once hinted
That moondrift
Constancy holds
The secret to a family phantom
An aura
Not appearing
All at once
Yet beam by beam
Over many lifetimes -
The bees sting
Although they only strike
The steely Jim Kirk
The once promising
Shortcut becomes
A trap in blistering
Heat
An ease of ascendency trickling
Downhill masqueraded
As bee sting quagmire
Whips no way out
Or gets in closer
Out -
Escape to shapelessness
Where yellow jackets
No longer pierce the cloak
Of colorless green -
Swamps expel an invisibility
Of a green man
Crafts an aura
Codestinates
The Wanda whip
A specific shape or shade
Of flock flopping evil
In an abandoned shack
Among seafoam hills
To take dictation
For a book of the dead
Wherein Luna confabulates
Kasserine pass
And trepidation
Of conquered dead
THE OUTLAW WANDA WALES
In the deep east
Mantle bubbles up
Yielding muddy servings
Of gruel in wooden cups
Wherein champagne fungus
Floats a reincarnation
Of the wild west -
An archaeologist shall unearth
These cups someday soon
Though putrid lace essence
Be faded by dirty time -
Yet the cups shall be steam washed
And catalogued in cavernous
Limbos by government Adam types
While baby powder aliens
Purloin a pale orange halo
Pulsing arhythmically
To imperceptible
Limbo poles -
An aromatic labyrinth
Impales in brown dirt
Gossages
The copper anniversary
Of pony boy’s rebirth
With crunge -
Luna man decimates
The escapades
of Samaritans
in the bush
who worship you
like Syd Barrett -
Volumizing
Hair tonic brews
And thrashing chests
Of gold doubloons
That cling to harnesses
Of milk chains
Be lashed
To Wanda’s shoulders
As she barely wriggles
Beneath
The burden
PLAY WANDA FOR ME
Listen close Wanda Lumens:
You must fathom
And confirm
A vague reminiscence
Of beats
Scuffed on brown autos
The seats coated
With tacky shawls
Purchased
From indentured servants
By new money mistresses
On rue de marc -
Scrub that graphite
From your grimy palms
Wanda lumens
You swoon
Amid chauvinists
While super novas implode
Into downy clothe
To collectively harbor
The illusion that flesh
Remains stable
In human form
Without the luxury
Of glue or r pasty-
If you don’t believe me
Ask Jim Kirk
THE CHIFFONIAN ANALECTS
Yellow heaven
Golden cakes
Oscillate
Up
When the seven
Fires rise
Gurgling black blood
Spattered
On her white
Smoke blazer -
Wanda
Of the corn struts
Bare ass down the sidewalk
Flying a Cornsilk
Poncho
Like a damn sail -
Therein
Wanda bat grapples
With the illegality
Of joint-like
Cigarettes
Or clips
For no fixed terms
Shall be tolerated
In limbo
Of the port city -
The clean port
Blazes
Nougat hallucinations
Mere illusions
And nothing less -
None point to non-truth
Nor against false truth
Nor in good mind
Of the false truth
Non truth
Lie -
False in the sense
That chummy grass
Grows back over
And over again
After being mowed
Frequently
And never dies -
The mayor mows
His own lawn
Hisself
Wielding
Interstellar overdrive
While he takes a shot
Of Bulleit
And considers hisself
Lucky to escape
Crucifixion
HIGH PLAINS WANDA
Peach moss
Billows
From a grinding
Machine
Seizing desire
To abound
Paisley shadows
Through frozen
Wanda rage -
Blood surges
Snowmen
Molt
Thrashing and viciously
Stabbing
Black balsa wood
Daggers -
Goodbye
You Wandas
The last train
To purgatory awaits
At the space station
Stupid
Like pissant
Highwaymen
Way back before
This shrill globe
Wasn’t so visceral -
While your very own ghost
Settles
At the head
Of the table
When a psychic
Channels
Your recitation
Of grace
