To do

· Lockheed Martin® nuclear waste right up the road. They'll vote on it Monday in the House.

· Dow® chemicals on the lawn. Dog. Warn kids.

· Monsanto® insecticides on the tomatoes, they're all cuddling together in the low-density polyethylene bag in the crisper. Wash tomatoes.

Don't look at the Styrofoam box spacers in the basement.

Black exhale of Peabody Energy® blowing in from the West.

Mixing with the rest of the Respirable Particulate Matter (PM10)

swirling in solution all around you.

Must Breathe

The cul-de-sac with its spiderweb of cracks

filled up with that chemical, durable, heat-resistant

crude-oil-based sealant they use. Must

· Go to Staples® Wal-Mart® Target® Sam's Club® Office Depot® Radio Shack® Safeway®

Dollar Store®

You'll get low-density polyethylene bags to put shit in.

Don't forget:

· Garbage Bags. Get the ones on sale at Safeway®

· Coupon.

· Take the **Chevy®

Its polymer bodywork and consoles, its polyisoprene tires, polybutadiene mounts,

polyisobutylene tire-linings, hoses and belts-just

nestle the polystyrene egg cartons safely in the vinyl back seat

along with the disposable Rubbermaid® containers, polyurethane stuffed

lumbar pillow, polyethylene OJ cartons and K-Mart® kid's toys, polyethylene terephthalate Diet Coke® bottles (with polypropylene threaded caps).

Just remember

· **Chevy needs an oil change.

· Jiffy Lube® coupon.

· Relax your shoulders.

· Breathe deep.

· Drive relaxed. Relax brow. Unclench teeth.

Relax into polyamide shirt.

Breathe. Look out polycarbonate windows

with their ethylene propylene window channelings

look, mainly

Well,

at other people's cars.

Need to:

· Relax your neck. Let your jaw go slack.

· Meridians, Deepak shockras, Chopra™ chi, flow, let it all flow.

Sweat.

Toes and feet need to sweat into polyester socks

in Nike® trainers

with ethylene vinyl acetate midsoles and styrene butadiene outersoles.

Go ahead and safely operate your tenite propionate gas and brake pedals.

· Breathe deep, tighten abs. Remember:

Straight back.

Drive home

polymethylmethacrylate blender under the sink

polypropylene ketchup bottle on the plastic tray on the door of the fridge

the shampoo and conditioner bottles in the plastic shower

39 Tupperware® containers with 36 tops in the cupboard*

polyvinyl chloride deck chairs out back under the plastic umbrella,

polyamide Sony® TV and AIWA® speakers in the family room

polyvinylidene chloride Saran Wrap® in the kitchen drawer.

*Missing three tuppertops. Why?

Ask Susan.

· Groceries

One thing becomes an other

Instincts

The cat is chasing a moth the moth is chasing
the light or circling it and the cat keeps
knocking him off course.
What is it with the hour and me
inside it watching and thinking
about the next and the next and
the next and the empty chair
where the cat was just sitting
before the moth
woke her up,
reminds me that I am not alone.

God made heaven and earth in the dark.

Rational Functions (from Dream Stories)

1.
Suddenly, he is here, sitting at a table, an uncrumpled piece of paper pinned by his elbows. Chin in hands. A benign hum playing the chambers of his heart.

Nothing seems to mean anything. Like he woke up in a dream and all the familiar things of his life are but holograms to that same benign hum. It looks like his kitchen, with the large round oak table, the silver mermaid painting, the shelving with its series of international cookbooks. His things. But what does that mean, and who is he, anyway?

Something startles him. A fat moth flying around the lamp in the center of the table, bumping into and off of the orange lamp shade, as orange as the setting sun.

He looks down at the paper. A drawing of a raven on a naked branch. A penciled list of names and numbers. A graph highlighted by peaks and valleys and ending with a phrase written in his handwriting. “The asymptote ends here.”

He speaks the phrase out loud, as if to summon an anchor, but he trips over the word “asymptote” and an ancient argument rocks through him like a tide. Slow motion violence against slick glass sand. Inherited footprints dissolving. He looks at his hand and breathes into the palm. “Is this life?” The moth like a soft motor that burns without fire. Humming the air.

“Or is it a trap,” he says suddenly aware of this distinct possibility.

He balls up the paper with a disgust he doesn’t understand.

“Where’s the definition,” he says, as if its buried treasure he’s asking about, or misplaced keys, or a constellation he was taught about in some lost childhood. Things to be found.

He walks over to the wood stove, which has burned down to just a few barely living coals, and tosses the paper inside.

A smoldering. A sly tongue of flame issues from the coals and consumes the paper. He feels a vague something in his chest like an itch followed by a purr and nothing. He looks around the fireplace for wood to add, but there is none, only the crumbs of wood spread out over the carpet like the leftover feast from a passing army of termites.

He hears the phone ringing and wonders if it just started or if it’s always been ringing. He knows himself well enough how his mind can forget about the world around him even as he studies the details of each crack and the hue of every halo. He smiles and the ringing continues and the smile fades upon the feeling like he’s missed an important class, the most important of his life and now because he’s missed it, his life can never really start.

“Don’t stop ringing,” he calls out, searching for the phone. “Where did I leave you?” he says, unable to locate with his ears, it’s direction. He looks on the futon against the wall, under the futon, next to the Conga drums, on the counter with the mason jar filled with quarters and the phone ringing and ringing and ringing…

“The answering machine”, he fumes, throwing pillows, knocking over bookshelves, toppling spice racks “there’s always a machine…” turning over the couch, “that answers…”

2.
Time passes the way time passes in a dream. The invisible phone ringing like the phone is nowhere and everywhere all at once, the walls, the ceiling, the floor, the air.

Like everything is a hologram of the ringing.

Furniture reduced to rubble and kindling, the television caved in, the stereo beaten to a pile of metal shards. Sawdust in his haggard beard, his knuckles bruised and scabbed over, his breathing like a clogged vacuum tube.

He returns at last to the wood stove, remembering the paper with its graph of peaks and valleys. The raven, the names and numbers.

“If only I hadn't thrown it into the fire, if only I had learned to read it, I might have been able to… ”

But there is nothing more to say. He climbs inside the stove, rear-end first, enduring with a grown through clenched teeth, the cracking of his spine, the sharp light of effort bursting through his back and spidering through his entire body. The x and y axis bending at the waist, to almost join as one.

“There are no rational functions,” he groans at the merciless ringing, and closes the iron door.

Order 9 Travesty (Spam edition)

 Unless you want to demonstrate your love for her by killing her? Sometimes
that happens. It's the one that always tastes the best, believe me — even
better than the one that always tastes the best, believe me — even better
than the one that always tastes the best, believe me — even better than
the one that always tastes the best, believe me — even better than the
one you have after a really fine meal. He had purposely turned the top
sheet around so she could read this:Above this sopping pile of paper Paul's
swollen right hand hovered, and held between the thumb and first finger
was a single burning match. Caraway 2 routines. It was time to go, he thought
wildly. The hell with Bur- bridge, stick--a minesweeper. In those days
many stalkers used mine sweepers, buying people. It seems the Visitation
caught them here, and they mutated .... the way I wanted to, fool, and
all the time you were egging me on and to him. Noonan had already adjusted
to the new situation. It was time to go, he thought wildly. The hell with
Bur- bridge, stick--a minesweeper. In those days many stalkers used mine
sweepers, buying people. It seems the Visitation caught them here, and
they mutated .... the way I wanted to, fool, and all the time you were
egging me on and to him. Noonan had already adjusted to the new situation.
It was time to go, he thought wildly. The hell with Bur- bridge, stick--a
minesweeper. In those days many stalkers used mine sweepers, buying people.
It seems the Visitation caught them here, and they mutated .... the way
I wanted to, fool, and all the time you were egging me on and to him. Noonan
had already adjusted to the new situation. It was time to go, he thought
wildly. The hell with Bur- bridge, stick--a minesweeper. In those days
many stalkers used mine sweepers, buying people. It seems the Visitation
caught them here, and they mutated .... the way I wanted to, fool, and
all the time you were egging me on and to him. Noonan had already adjusted
to the new situation. It was a game, "We'll see when we get there." Redrick
kept looking at the map. There He really was interested in what such a
young boy, a schoolboy just they never tied up the loose ends, never found
out where the lab had gotten started thinking about money? It allows you
not to do things you dislike!  Unless you want to crash through a window
and crawl. anatole astoria This was in Bakersfield, California, where I
grew up. "Ian drove his bloody fist into Geoffrey's face again and again
— his friend for whom, in his right»mind, he would have died. Normal air
had never tasted so fine. A "Do you want to demonstrate your love for her
by killing her? Sometimes that happens. It's the one that always tastes
the best, believe me — even better than the one you have after a really
fine meal. He had purposely turned the top sheet around so she could read
this:Above this sopping pile of paper Paul's swollen right hand hovered,
and held between the thumb and first finger was a single burning match.
Caraway 2 routines. It was time to go, he thought wildly. The hell with
Bur- bridge, stick--a minesweeper. In those days many stalkers used mine
sweepers, buying people. It seems the Visitation caught them here, and
they mutated .... the way I wanted to, fool, and all the time you were
egging me on and to him. Noonan had already adjusted to the new situation.
It was time to go, he thought wildly. The hell with Bur- bridge, stick--a
minesweeper. In those days many stalkers used mine sweepers, buying people.
It seems the Visitation caught them here, and they mutated .... the way
I wanted to, fool, and all the time you were egging me on and to him. Noonan
had already adjusted to the new situation. It was time to go, he thought
wildly. The hell with Bur- bridge, stick--a minesweeper. In those days
many stalkers used mine sweepers, buying people. It seems the Visitation
caught them here, and they mutated .... the way I wanted to, fool, and
all the time you were egging me on and to him. Noonan had already adjusted
to the new situation. It was a game, "We'll see when we get there." Redrick
kept looking at the map. There He really was interested in what such a
young boy, a schoolboy just they never tied up the loose ends, never found
out where the lab had gotten started thinking about money? It allows you
not to do things you dislike!  Unless you want to demonstrate your love
for her by killing her? Sometimes that happens. It's the one that always
tastes the best, believe me — even better than the one that always tastes
the best, believe me — even better than the one that always tastes the
best, believe me — even better than the one that always tastes the best,
believe me — even better than the one you have after a really fine meal.
He had purposely turned the top sheet around so she could read this:Above
this sopping pile of paper Paul's swollen right hand hovered, and held
between the thumb and first finger was a single burning match. Caraway
2 routines. It was time to go, he thought wildly.

Some Notes on the Life of Wernher von Braun

Wernher was the first to theorize the existence of Tang.

For a few short weeks in 1944 Wernher personally added 10% more love to each V-2 rocket launched toward London.

Wernher had the second largest collection of used human skulls in the western hemisphere.

Wernher enjoyed the occasional wine spritzer.

As a child Wernher dreamed of becoming a concert pianist, but at the age of 8 his dreams were dashed when his fingers were mangled in a beer hall putsch.

Wernher Von Braun's real name was a state secret from 1945 until 1968.

Gospel Accordingly

1. Put my sins behind your back, saving one for the sleeve.
Death cannot sing your praise.
The grass withers and the flowers fall,
but do not be afraid.
The flesh cannot count the sheep of your worry.
Save your manna for the dogs,
eat my words oh prisoners of trust.

The stock market rises and falls but the interest lasts forever.

Traverse the eye of the needle head first,
listen for the present’s eternal bellow.
Watch the fool pick ocean glass for the sky fish
born from all this ferocious change.

God haunts the simplest questions:
What time is it? How are you doing?
When will it stop raining?

2. God haunts military idioms:
Death count.
tactical maneuvers.
Private. General.
Yes sir, no sir. Right away sir.

The general calls for a surge, but he is a private man.
He has spiritual experiences. He appreciates the joy or randomly satisfying
bowel movements. He prays for lower taxes, for his daughter’s Harvard admittance.
He bemoaned the demotion of Pluto to the lower ranks of planetoid.
Is there no justice, indeed.

3. The air strikes your fancy. Your fancy car,
your extensive digital music collection.
It’s in the atmosphere, the blood of your fancy.

Play poker with my sins. The ante will be low, like smoking in front of a baby.
The stakes, dramatic: like losing your soul to Wal Mart.
Bluff death at your own peril. Fold to beauty for beauty’s sake.
Stack my sins in neat columns, but don’t count them.
Better yet, lose all count.

If you find yourself wandering through the valley of Hamon Gog,
you know you’ve lost. You’ll have to listen for my voice
shaking the lupin that cover the countless graves.
This is what I’ll say:
“As you go through the land, if you see a human bone,
set up a marker beside it until gravediggers have buried it.
There you will eat the flesh of mighty men
and drink the blood of princes of the earth
as if they were the rams and lambs, goats and bulls –
all of them fattened animals from Washington.”

4. You are helpless, pigeonholed by a rival deity;
dear friends let us love one another.
Dear friends, keep yourselves from idols.
Rahab, the prostitute is here to set you free.

What good is voting when her tongue
has a much more selective imagination?
What good are words when her moans call the moon
to shine through your ceiling?
Like the breeze in a forgotten painting,
You will become her masterpiece.

Love her, love her, love her…
Even as the bread is leavened and the Romans raise another cross.