Parlance

Entombed in the cedar
Mac Rebennack-ness of it all,
I stood still with a Wisconsin
kind of appendage, the wishbone apparent
through those ill-begotten stockings
left behind that one night
when the pistons swayed
against the moon spritzers
with their glittering doom

(so transparent to everybody
save the few middling marmoset dealers
known around the district as
generally pretty good guys
in their own regard, if you insist on
getting down to their brand of parlor parlance
after a bit of tea and perhaps
a scone while we’re at it).

Alls I knows is
my black bean taquito factory
couldn’t have shut down
at a worse possible time for me
and my chicken brethren. Now,

I know what you’re thinking. Can
chickens collectively be considered
brethren, or would that be omitting
the female sex entirely?
For you see, my enlightened peers
in this common quest
for some kind of satisfaction–
if at all possible–
chicken is the lazy layman’s
blanket term, and we can’t be
bandying improper pronouns around
over here, ya dig?

Oh, and I suppose it would also mean
that my clucky compatriots will have to incur
the ultimate sacrifice (their lives)
on the company’s behalf
for the sake of avoiding
cuisine production cessation (if even
for a minute).
I can’t jeopardize our investors’ success
within this capitalistic apparatus–
especially after that botched public offering
a couple summers ago. Egg
on my face, I said to myself (I said).

Heretofore

Of a subtler ilk, this deer wagon
waxes transparent when I lick its foliage
in a counterclockwise fashion.

Intriguing twist: Trick Smith Limited,
world-renowned jackalope dealer, now beckons
[VALUED CUSTOMER] to become an exclusive member
of its carnage-related festivities!*
*Offer not valid in lower Nevada
or the Lesser Antilles.

The topic of pencil shaving trefoils
has popped to the forefront of today’s
peculiar poser posse club meeting,
guaranteeing a spirited debate
unlike any other heretofore witnessed.

Cumin digestion may hurt the back,
particularly when a wily attack dog
headbutts you, unawares, from behind
right after you’ve finished a serving
of your regionally-famous rabbit stew.

——

Originally posted on 10/10/11,
entitled #34