the rhythm of the caribou


the quiet of new days, eyelashes
in honey glaze. the Bratz are stretching
Jack Nicholson until he snaps into
Christian Slater Smithereens –
close shave for Arkansas Dave,
high noon for Henry Lloyd Moon.

the cramps occupy the crawlspace,
malaise for the Magnum, P.I. revisionists.
crank the air conditioner, or the
Bull Moose Party will thaw.
pilot your zeppelin over the field of cacti
and parchment. Only Shatner believes what I saw.

the echo of dopamine resonates
through a Fake Food World.
Tom’s Big mom was Mercedes Ruehl.
Vel and Daph excel in the art of the
foiled crime, but good penmanship is
the sign of a soiled mind.

The restless Mohawk rattles Gotham City.
he is the white buffalo whose subway tokens
are expired. We will apply the mercy rule
if you were one of the actors who played
Howard the Duck while Lea Thompson ran amok.
’86 was a good year – you must be tired.

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