People beat each other with pipes
harvested from dismantled chain
link fences for the attention of the
people on the sidelines. The ladies
paint their nails paying them no
mind and the gentlemen go back
and forth to the warehouses where
all the metal comes from. It is melted
down and shaped into the various
knick-knacks we keep in our college chests
and in our basements.
Children run through puddles in damp socks
catching colds that make them see tiny people
with wings that whisper to them; they could
fly too if they tried. Mothers and fathers
hate the people their kids grow into
despising the obnoxious jackets they wear,
and the loud sex they all have in their cars.
Parrots in the pet store refuse to participate
in the stoned cashier’s profanity, but will still
scream the word “cunt” at the very instant
its seed is late to be delivered.
Fishermen use sharp rocks to bash open the
shells of large snails that they burn off the walls
of downtown office buildings. There are many
theories about how they get so big, but the leading
one is that there’s something in the printer ink.
It’s made from a chemical that the female snails
release to attract males for mating, and with
every document off the presses another sucker
leaves the sea and starts to slither toward your
town.
Teleporting Typewriter 