Luke J. Holt

(1-14-91 / fullerton CA)


noise of the hapless buzz your mothers set
in a dark fort
in a dull furnace of all sight and sound

black noise and blue noise and wet green and dry yellow noise
noise of tooth extraction, accidents, news cadence like batting eyes of baritone, liberty-colored trim outline news of movie star arrests and a the failed birth of a giant panda; these though are sights.

noise of fleeting butterfly jazz
Rastafarian color pattern of traffic lights
and with them the sounds of indignant sedans competing for inertia

noise of rage
red voices warm as blood and boiling
noise of handsome dogs
shooting a fist of alien pain with a bay that rattles the town below a sky with plugged ears

noise of diners
din of plate and silver like the skirmish of tiny katanas
stifled voices loud from swill-cans and self-conscious of its own vocal shadow

noise of emergency turn blue night streets into wacky rivers of rock awash with screaming splashes of war-like red

noise of a yellow horse
named Jesus
thrashing sideways in the hay

noise of teeming Venae
prayerless shapely mops of jet, flaxen, carmine, swinging tresses of umber, every subtle twang of sierra,
but these too are also sights

noise of raped Lilleths at Eden s door
wringing a tissue and cursing the first name of god
sound of the sobbing mime with a tenor-horn complaining to the doctor of green piss

noise of states shaped like shapes
noise of forevers dirtying the children
sweetening their world despite whats best
noise of winners being lied to from birth by casket-kissing elders
you can sing
you can act
you can model
you can worship yourself
you can eat shit and grow up sad as long as you believe in yourself


noise of America free
you have to buy four to get two, three
and one lost vow
to be proud of birds we kill with mist to keep our corn safe from the prying, have-not beaks of beetles

noise of helicopters, sleeping hurricanes carrying sow and seed from a network of tilled rectangles as vast as Manhattan

noise of dizzy boats
piercing oceanic skin
treading a heaving blue forever forever
forever nauseous in the lunar gleam

noise of rotating garbage
in narrow chasms of Remington steel
bring it to the birthplace of the nightmares our future kin shall dream

noise of silver trumpets damning Jericho
hexagons that say GO
painted dull green
read a sidewalk
and give life stories the pebbles set till floods come

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2014
Edited: Saturday, January 04, 2014

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