Raymond Farr

This Blousy Domesticity

The tabloids report
Hart Crane’s death

On a moving
Flat bed

Is immanent
& so who can blame us

If we never come clean?
Attack dogs

Into submission
Take some getting used to

It’s like too much illusion munching the Kellogg’s
Our hair smelling like apples stewing

On the stove
It’s like too much blackbird for her sensible dress

& we can’t write our way out of
This blousy domesticity

This dish washer full
Of spawning trout

---

Growing Elevator Mutton

White clouds clumped like haystacks
Painted on slivers of wood flying out of

Tunnels—a thought in its rippling
Is identical to a field of blue sky the same faces the owl

Hooked on what the eyes capture & cannot hold
The all white death the young swans dredged like old dead swans

The religious whiskey of my loneliness dripping
From Tweety Bird lawn ornaments the local kids disfigure

Growing elevator mutton on my lips my smile is a book of pink wounds
A kind of angst as empty as the bottles we drink from ironically

A can of Keanu Reeves is like chewing gum
Watching a man getting a blow job

& out here in space—Google me, God!
I am pure human on the edge of 17

---

Yonder Is the Pink Cadillac of Sunset

Making a level place
Of reinterpreting the world

The evil sugar bowl just gets us--
I’ve seen [plus or minus] so many things!

But the heart is an ember
Scratching out polluted poems

& I love you like I love pure bologna
From the secret square

Yonder is the pink Cadillac of the sunset
One molasses, two molasses—you get the idea

Let’s go down town to the squad room
& falsify some legal documents

That’ll be the day that I die--
One music to fill us!