Bustle Poem by michael pacholski

Uterus first, then alphabet,
then shoes then tie then straight ahead
to a red light crawl.
Were you referring to me, Aunt Ella
on the phone? Mine is off now buy bye buh buy
the traffic has angled its shoulder right in
to crawl around my rib and I must rib back
or be nudged straight in to a black hole, Nebraska ‘88.

sentimental days and nothing more

Do you see the street?
Do you see the markings?
I can’t go back. U turns of the mind are still illegal

A hopeful priest plays the lottery
the big buzzclock whirrs 3: 19
John 3: 20
can I get something from somebody
a quick burrito with a soda
while I check with Gemini and ticker tape
to see if anybody is in love with me

dear flesh of my high rise
fruit of my cornfields of younger days

all stars point north
It is time to go under