by PJ Lombardo
i arrive grinwrecked in a puddle of dandelions
and the passerbys jiggle their heads in shock—
a quivertree has grown two fat lips
in the midst of such blasphemy
thru the chipped teeth of an oracle
i enter my wake to discover
gaping trainwrecks iron legs
wound around each other
iron necks craned in ecstasy
i see a mustang descend between
sunbeams
shimmering its twisted
face—
which approaches its
mouth with calves
outstretched– bands of raw
muscle
swirling in
my chest
i arrive grinwrecked in a puddle of
dandelions faceless whispers shake the air
gaping passerbys swivel their iron necks
flaming wads of bliss pocking their tan cheeks—
a goat on twin legs
pulls a lute from its tail
and haunts it with breath buried deep in its
stomach
my nose disappears into my
mouth—
a nose stuffed with teeth
descends between
sunbeams
i arrive grinwrecked in a puddle of
dandelions straddling the back of an oracle
we cling in a hover from the fingernail of a quiver tree
as magma lifts from beneath earth’s crust in lumps of
flaming bliss—
two goathearts over each of my eyes
a wake of mist lifts the knees of passerbys above the horizon
swirls of whisper
drag into lips
while their phonemes accent
the crest of every
trainwreck
PJ Lombardo is a poet and cultural critic from northern New Jersey. He is currently an MFA candidate at the University of Notre Dame and works as an RA for Action Books. His work is forthcoming in Dream Pop Journal.
