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or BETTY or IT’S VERY THAT

Mark McQueen

It rained, when we really needed clarity;

he reached in – called no foul, for fags

pass the biscuits; I have no time

bad breath Betty bets on sour horses –

she embroiders shoes and Russian hats for hackers

working hard for bum and bob and bop apartment showings

restless youth sucking pacifiers & bank accounts week to week

under bridges & aquarium fantasies where “the artists” live and –

babies wrapped in sweet knitting and plastic packaging (?)

his hair was so so so so long

I haven’t the slightest imagination – can you see?

by the dawn’s early nightshade, steeping in droopy kettles

green-eyed sweetness, the perfect warmth on my neck –

peeking in iridescent morning apple cider pajama parties –

wild percussion, pouring wine and filing w2 forms

orange boot – tin can chip off the old lab;

pick your friends and nose, your boundaries

where Maria, mother of Pancho, stares with jaundice eyes

over green benches and hills tied in brown paper brigades;

cinnamon toast rape scene on nauseaous ferries to poverty-stricken

mouthfuls of doleful insolence, spread like jelly on the table

America asked the world to hold its beer –

let go of your silver sets of forks and knives

thrown off cliffs like hardware circuit magicians

calling calypso and caterpillars on Obama phones;

anything can be funny in a certain light –

place your trash directly into my recepticle

under mossy bridges on Mississippi rainstorm back roads

where security cameras blaze thru constitutional barbwire

dock the ferry and unwrap every present two times

West 4th is the center of the unviverse;

tapping water bags into brown spotted wheel pillars

no, carnitas is fine – apologizing for polka dots

and running up hills w/ pink turrets and blood stains

IN A WORLD where palm trees kiss my cheek

God only knows what I’m putting in my lungs – cinematic

parlor shop shots of tequila & robitussen; priced correctly

according to remote factory island bombast nunneries –

smoke & **glitter** line the fragmented edges of my lungs

I have no weapons in my house for a unicorn;

squeezing out of the snakeskin tea; blood dripping

red-eyed obscurity, smathered jelly on my glasses –

rain-spotted; whales in timewarp smoke signals

hoops falling in a vortex of DNA & cocktails

elderflower whispers in a rusty steel tube adolescence

opening windows to the desert in the nighttime; boundless

transfer on the upper avenue — Nostrand capitalists

wiping tissues between words bound in Euro- trash

to feel eyes on you, under limousines & flutes of champagne

F train blues dripping below orange skies screaming

a warm vanilla spritz on white-washed resilience

boring Betty writes postcards for tumblr girls (in a)

New Mexico sunset dream; please hold my heart

mint flowers binding muscle to steel bone dry vermouth –

blood on my lip, ink in my ear – opulent

silver boots pounding holes in the mud bath & beyond

Absurdity is the only religion I comprehend;

rich fluff in oily pits of hellfire and Wall Street

don’t test the bubbles – let me punctificate

topaz faggot & the 5-head beard; an essay

look at hoops locking all the windows – suspicious

Russians spitting nails in cedar brain buckets

hundreds of vibrant sacks filled w/ complaints

Hollywood lens blue on your faded denim eyes

Los Angeles sherriff, blaaazed and fucking vigilant

dancing on fire escapes above peasants & their teeth

breaking patterns w/ dandelion wine jars upon rocks upon mistletoe

penetrating vicoden bottles with unabashed precision –

I throw up my grievances but the saints just stare;

a toast to the horse who toasted the party monsters

bloodshot Betty jingled her keys to the chime of beer bottles

lifting blinds wearing letterman serendipity – I digress

pill box apple pie legislation; shouting

log off – no one is right when they’re tired or hungry

glamour spoke, and I always listened (even while praying)

pink hat shoveling bullshit out of hollow guitars –

snowed-in mouse hole broken drip Lamar

missing beats and broadcasts over radio nightmares

Zombies plan the day before; I am no Jane Austen

drink the vinyl grooves like holy nut

forbidden rooster cock-a-doodling til 4am smokes

zero to antichrist in Versace – to the gala

antidepressant Visa; bad luck Betty wasn’t nagging

transitioning from talent to turquoise & truffle

dye your innocence a fresh shade of Louis Vuitton;

(be)dazzled M&M’s w/ cocaine on the key to swastikas

in the mortar under my boots & saddle

paint dries in erroneously bold washout circles

fur under my feet w/ violin tracks in the bazaar

bleaching glass table tops with matchbox chef pants

sing the praises over holy midnight bath salts

in soapy paint-dried wounds – I don’t care

when squids ink blot; power vacuum minefields

hotel soap behind the rancher’s ears; silver

Parisian trains gliding from commune to shopping mall

lawn guy land; stapling porcelain to ash

jailing cherubs in glamour – good thing for podcasts

glittering knives marking long distance calls to Amsterdam;

the buffalo stampede on the lion even still –