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
It was in late February when Kouros lost his herd. The cacophony’s atonality spread into, from parts unknown, the ripe green fields, the blue-black skies—molding airborne skulls from cloud. Kouros was reticent to hire a posse of Ganas or groups of iridescent ghosts because he knew that Ganas’ demands for pay would be much higher than his strapper’s price and knew, also, that the iridescent ghosts were simply unreliable with following complex instructions. He needed to employ a gang of minions who were foolish enough to commit to solving a potentially impossible mystery yet modest enough to work towards earning a small and single reward. He briefly thought on the possibility of importing Indian Rakshasas. Rakshasas had the nose for investigative work, but their vampiric thirst for blood would only lead to greater social malcontent. Kouros, beardless youth, took an elderly neighbor’s advice and waited one year’s cycle. The renewing stench of spring and green and blooming flesh would bring the ones whom he was seeking. This whole time waiting he’d imagined valiant centaurs, shimmering chimeras, and other figures indescribable in words responding to his open call. Yet, when Spring had come to pass, he nearly lost faith in mythical creatures.
In fact, it wasn’t until Summer that the fields were overgrown in the absence of livestock. And in this time of chlorophyllous impunity he’d become acquainted with a choral troupe of satyrs.
With no goats to bugger or wings to tear off from the backs of fowl, the satyrs turned to the field’s new inheritors for entertainment. Firstly, they were merely fascinated by the plant and vermin life, but, soon enough, when they’d made an adequate number of observations, they reacted with parodic reflexes. Some writhed on their hairy bellies in the dirt with the snakes and worms or rolled up dung in accordance with the dung beetles or squeaked in unison with rats and field mice. They observed each specific job of every single species they’d encountered, and, in unison, they sung a jeering song about the limitations of the spineless and the non-mammalian: pointing out the many maladaptations that present with having strange and ornate bodies serving clear-cut functions. They poked at those Darwinian specifications that most higher lifeforms deem “below,” and which over countless generations such lowly organisms cornered themselves into. Kouros was taken by the juvenile yet clever spectacle of it.
He surmised that satyroi might be intelligent enough to follow his directions if promised a reward. Keeping their buffoonish tendencies in mind, he named each satyr after organismic mimeses founded, recorded, and coined by repudiated -ologists of various disciplines: Fritz Müller, Erich Wasmann, Henry Walter Bates, Michael Emsley and Robert Mertens, et al. were to be represented by a corresponding satyr.
When I was nothing but a drunk and a slut
a jointed doll since Halloween
black panties painted on
witch flames over everything
but how did this month let go already?
We write down useless lines sick, sick like a movie
wait for our memories
this beauty dependent on red cheeks and full snowsuits.
If I could separate the process from the watering hole
from when they hung me from a meathook
in the spider-colored silence
the weather vane spins green ink on my nipple
as the screen loads
the cats have beany kidneys.
I pose in front of the mirror
in my minty faux fur
in my idiosyncrasies
can’t not have sex with myself.
Today could be my birthday but I don’t really know
I wait for heavy snow to impose a persona
and the unkempt yards make it hard
to go home again
but you assume the haunted house really happened
that it was the utmost
that men chased us with chainsaws
once they got paid
that they yelled out our names
and also sold lacy gold frames
with all of my school pictures in them.
in the matted glen
under a sky grey as nails
i knelt next to the open mouth
to the body i laid my lips
i sought to taste
the strangeness of dying
i sought to see
what the eyes
in the purgatory of time,
i gagged for a vision
the dark wood glowed
like the orange coils of
an electric lantern
like a coal
in its waning
Samuel Island scrubfowl—whose decimation in volcanic eruption is not eliminating its taxonomic ambiguity—, Leonid quail, whitewingy sandpiper, Vladivostok rail, Leonid merganser, the pilebuilding megapode, the Allaid scrubfowl—a megapode of circumstantial persistence—, North Island snipe, elephant bird, Curlsik moa, Tymah rail—whose only proof of existence is a drawing in a diary—, Constance Cove sandpiper, Major Chatham rail, Milne Volcano crake, Bunny Island emu, Milne Bay petrel—possibly a subspecies of the blackcappy petrel and is not officially extinct—, the discovery of a wing from a carcass is perpetuating the rumor of the persistence of Gould’s petrel, the Nenavidet Forest storm petrel is waffling toward extinction, West Coast spotty penguin—a possible singlesighting doppelganger of the little spotty penguin—, crestful shelduck—is not officially extinct—, Sainte Ray crake, Saratogan cave rail, Uralian quail—is not officially extinct although the bird is in possession of a variety of native names—, Tumulus lapwing—is not officially extinct although it is almost certainly extinct—, Kirimati sandpiper, New Caledonian rail—not officially extinct although carnivorous feral pigs are overrunning its only territory—, Snowboddy rail, Vulcan Keloid lorikeet—not officially extinct because it is small and inconspicuous—, Norfolk kaka, Kosrae crake, Miller’s rail—whose only proof of existence is in a small collection of paintings and drawings and may be the spotless crake—, Saint Helena swamphen, Society parakeet, Hawkin’s rail, Yakima shelduck, Saint Paul Island duck—whose only proof of existence is in an extremely accurate oilpainting—, Amsterdam duck, Yakima duck, Mariana mallard, Finsch’s duck, pinkheadish duck—victim of a reclassification error and not officially extinct—