blasphemarium only kinder

sentences counter to why
shy in a conundrum way
wayward enough to cry
teetering on tocks
the spread is low the length is wide
doesn't explain who captured who
just a desk of the labyrinth kind
gesture to blow over snow
the rabbit besides
trackless the x resurrects the y
gallonteens the distance
beneath splinters
those lily white lizards of y
all bedroom sweat as noise
what the bears thought neutral
the knives thought wise
drifting in place
with the fork and spatula
waiting for a rooster rise
so wide you could follow him
behind dry buckets
thrown in the fire
the crayons melting
where the mitten cries
behind trowel doves
the trounces try
the moon center stage
worshipping acting cult
a streetcar named desire
a mesmerizing tailor
the clock fast forwards
it's nine not ten
or is it the other
the rocket clocks back
"there's no more snow your egos on fire!"
rest in that stream to impale
interpolates it's not wise
more believed in
that shotgun glass
receiving its marrow
upstage in laughter ducts
behind medicine counters
two bones chew in lab
there was no time for supper
only it's aftershock
spilled in the question y
labspeak in charlie board cry
reaching the distant bone
jester in twine
washing up for noon
the table sets arks on the counter
a wishing bone for tea
to elephant the room
labs for a doctor
washing for school
inside a drum.
the polar express
bisects each mind
splinters control acting blind
two thoughts in molecules
molecular devices
attracting encounter
watching the nose grab whys
honk its horn whilst passing by
it's up to the dressing
what's it addressing
thrown a curve in blithering blather
what the coat left behind...
missed what it said
watching the irony fly in circles
watching for dad
mending my window strawed in plaid
squalid on the counters
waiting for grads to fly
that censorless design
caught in the crack hole
chocolate by design
floors in catapaults decide
where the lens blinds
it's not an office affair
the lines are grinding
cicero declining
waiting by the counter
sadness unknown
opens the snow
petrified
the roads are freezing but not past cold
not what you pretended for
those rose of thorn
the Christ behind
squalid in the hole
between the eyes
it's creamier than I'd like
finding dead center
impound along the y
colder than spice hotter than try
in a cross-dressin design
placing scruples where the bottom dries
night disappears
defining
yesterday morning
meant to be kinder.

denis streeter   3/11/17