Anvil Arm Poem by Jimi Doyle

the rain forged its anvil arm
through the dusty membrane
kissing the grass leaves
into an ocean trance

now snow is turning...
i'm bone-jacked
with slink shy girlfriends
here in the third floor apartment
trimmed behind
a grey city back porch

now and again
we run out
for this and that

i saw the best minds of a generation
lying
asleep

we worked at races over the phone
made calls for a collection agency, too
gaining consent
like the electric moments
of afternoon thundercrack

ancient sense
like spring soil ascending...
then you're dazed with strength

randomness compels
lucky circumstances
which can pay the dream tax
for all the ammunition we need

our gang was movie stars- no film
no ammunition for our pistols

five gallons of gasoline
in big glass jugs
weird sisters tried to warn me...
i know that now
but i scotched it like a bug