Here's an exercise I've created based on Jane Satterfield's connection of the X-Files and Girl Scouts at an FBI shooting range, two entirely different entities with a common thread.
Mike Tyson and the YMCA
Gaps in space open like brains
Before input.
Output: flesh.
Bashing brains and scuttle thrashings
engaged and butted, tearing
and tearing from beady eyes and
vanquished hearts, ripe like lobes
of penetration.
Who wouldn't scream with an eagle
Owning the cumulous and beady-eyed too.
Beak vice-gripping, carnivorous, thirsty.
Fluttering up, down, up, down.
BAM! Like Lloyd Christmas on vacation
from ever looking the same.
One, two, three counts and it's out.
Clunky candy, ceramic fishing,
determination unflinching.
A spherical outing with tooth
brush capabilities and fracturing
tendencies.
How did he find it?
Bobbing for apples
in a sea of chemical imbalances.
Stink to the eyes, flippers united,
an unflappable urgency
To reunite in milk
as in glaciers newly bonded.
I admire this. I wonder if you began, for example, later on, maybe here:
ReplyDeleteWho wouldn't scream
It just seems a bit more captivating as a way into this strange juxtaposition. And I'm not sure that I see enough of the YMCA, yet.