Eighteen Bearded Folk

lactating secretaries
I’ll give you a minute
nock arrows and
squeeze zits
the pox shuts down the tired wheezings
spangled fool’s rhathymia snuffed
by disregard why happiness
spittle upwards
that Archimedes’ Screw should be witnessed
by the cattle folk that inhabit your
intimate fantasy when self
meets awareness and
long cruel pain
joy
faced me
as emotional vomit parade spokes from wagons
abandoned on the ancient trail-side
the watchers
fifteen minus the creeping
Oedipus
strong whiskers ruffle the contentment
of pagans, the counter-truth,
bands of languid fixers
abrupt
in the gutter fade