Category: Chris Moran

there’s a computer chip in my dog’s basketball
documenting the motion of oxygen
in a bathtub filled with oatmeal

it’s like feeding a cemetery to the radio

the perpendicular prisms of ignominy
and the brainbombed loser psyches of the herd
replicate the cybernetic agreement
between two winged statues

I held a bonfire inside a watermelon
on the night I drained the ashes from this continent’s hooves

hey, I never skateboarded into raw hamburger meat
but I did drink Drano out of an ice cream scooper
it made as much sense as a horse’s head
bouncing up and down on a trampoline