"Quiet with the window closed ..."

1.
Quiet with the window closed.
The cellphone has an orgasm with the clock-radio.
Classical inanity. "Do you know who I am?"
"Yes. My death." No, hey, dismay. Hit
a man in the head, he drops dead. Hit
him in the heart, or the other part ...
"A terrible five o'clock in the afternoon." But
The moon's eyes are red.
For once I follow the game. Green vacancy.
Chasing it through the stalls. A magical mist
blew into the bathroom. No wind now.
Fresh chicken gizzards it felt like. Tu parles Charles.
Butterflies flew crazily at my armpits. I killed them with the van.
"Geese float & de breez blow" so. Adieu. A-day-o-doo.

2.
Geese float in debris       blues turning green
I pretend to be acquainted with the accouterments of civilization.
Wildflower ciderblocks     spread of corrosion
reaching smudgy blue     rust drift and mauve spume
at the end of a long dirt road     butterflies flew crazily at my armpits.
The towers distant in smog. Crushed brick. The road the colour of it.
Giant pitted stumps of concrete     coloured foam     gulls flirting
stargrass or wild oats    a chewed-up caterpillar     turning
The gees sleep with their heads under wings.    Whose love erodes
It was weird out there     floor tiles in the subway     mirror ball flowers
a pound of princess in a bag     bacon weiners     fresh chicken gizzards
The old women cackle. I stole the fruit stickers.
I found myself behind a slow boat to Brampton   then
face down on a red carpet that tasted like extra-strength aspirin.
With a scalped brandywine     waiting for love to dry     I eat standing up.

3.
A moth flies out of the shampoo bottle and struggles up the shower curtain.
It makes it to the top then falls into the bath. Its wings are sudsy and it can't fly.
The judges, doctors, board members roll their eyes.
"To ___ without being a ___er."
"Do you ____ this ____."
"I did it all just to watch you sleep."
"Lose no sleep over it, Cora. I'm just disappointed. I thought we had something."
"Here nothing belongs."
I hail the butterflies with my headlights.
Truck on my tail. No, flies.
Peacock stalks on a blue pickup
cries like a cellphone in a theater. "Tire-eyed."
In a passing tour-bus the old women cackle.

4.
A bird explodes into a spray of flies.
A box of old shoes.    We walk looking down.
Sky of lemon vitriol. Screamy curdles
blew out of the pizza ovens and the garlic snarl
with a kiss of amber and spit on the glass
the patio crosshatched
It hangs in your awning
is a bird burnt out and tries
and like any holiday welcome
and flies.