Killing an American
Glenn Shaheen

after The Cure


Pills akimbo across the dresser
pills for anxious pills for
veins and blood
candy for sweet mouth.

Let me know I’m good and moral
sac of bones, meat, blood, impulses.
I love every Canadian startup.
I pill for slim brain.
I candy corn a labyrinth.
I feather con milk pillow. My fellow
monsters, lend me your fears.

Un petit peu du bone and blood
in shadow free black a must, slipping amongst
the bugs split carapaces.
Webs so strongly brushing eyelashes
and also too if you ask me
heavy plant corpse air,
un petit peu du peur.

Hand cradle on the curl of air.

The drilling and good belief
in the air on face, skin—
A gift too true and deserved,
the backdrop immobile.

A red guitar leaning slight against
a sunrimmed door a power a community
all zig pour flow.

White friends sick of my problems well
excuuuuse me. They of course voted
with my best interest in mind they
assure me. Sense fire with mega bass.
Our corn unavailable,
tendrils among the curl of air.

(was here a little while)

To the United States hands amidst the curl of rib.
Fire’s flash in digital canopy,
the burst of spider eggsac.

Hands amidst the broke up story.

Pearlescent bone traversing thin skin.
Flinching even when you call its corpse a racist.
Cut up over a flame and conducting the fire.

It is possible to be both,
oui oui. The flame and the bath.
Each American a stranger to me.

Trueness all knife-armed.
A time for canopied lazing amidst the fame.

The eggsac placed gingerly in
the sterilized box.

An oil beneath the foot, was it placed
with malice or mistake,

and which soldier’s apology mends the bone?

Carotid feeling an angelic sort of breadfluff.

I have committed lyrics to a few songs to
memory. Don’t ask me which. I was promised
a new lash, one I could finally grip

Mouse hard detritus poisoning the walkway.

I decided a flutter, a flip and
then bone sac split.

World aclang but me as well,
eggsac foam drifting back to the web

The vinyl siding, whole cities beneath.
If you seek a pleasant destruction,
look about you.

The ring of a metal pipe dropped from a crane
Is the construction progress or repair?
Who’d know if we’ve been damaged beyond recognition?

Voices akimbo, the eggsac bursts
when it is ready.
The little spiders our beautiful children.

They ring like a clamor of
pipes pushed over and yes, on purpose.


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