language charade dead inside the clade – Sean Kilpatrick
September 10, 2019
born on a blade made flat
suckling handle scraps
of blood below a palm
we speak serpent balm
stillborn neolates hatched on nature’s sleeve
why alternate the frequency of a scream
just as mute an articulation
ripped from gesturing fulguration
turns pale on the wind
we suck back in
man cut the forest
down with speech
couldn’t name each tree
by its individual crest
condensed into recitation
all that was substantive became exclamation
then the farmer wrestles revenge into a school
oxen take direction of the page
lines of crop inventory slop
switch speed for muscle instinct for cage
maidens drain the gland
weightlift boulders off the land
hunting milk by schedule
every letter neuters groups
of branching sanities
a single goop sprayed not said
lingual instead of dead
ploughed-crotch vanities
cubicles city-wide
sprain the penny
train the many
promised to mechanical light
an exogamy of the gigabyte
turns caves ephemeral
the g-spot of a processor
roving suction-pump professor
as the brain becomes a genital
slots that chlorotic Thoth fills
with a feather in his spill
leaking theogony up a hill
his epicarp clumps
chit chat was god number one
fanning itself out pun after pun
collapsing back nations under its fingernail
caking crack ash in the pipe’s rail
like a spider web on hydraulics
like a piss drop turned bucolic
that stage of stink rain can only amplify
feedbag confections butt wand bullseye
tanning the white flag
mass graves on tap
revolutions of the billfold
dunk your case of clap into a family
have I pleased my wife today
have I licked her where she’s spayed
are her feet my pulpit skewed
is her panty noose shined blue
will my husband ask for anything
will I turn over show my ring
and does the blood follow us
why can’t it butter our sandwiches
in the year 2055 our child’s casket through a straw
is another biodegradable feature
of the millionth landfill where bitty plaques
scroll by on a platform of light
its frowning masturbation videos reboot
stroked with amniotic juice
the poison memory of conception
became the horizon long ago
debuting in fumes