Bruce COVEY
Edge
When it voids you can switch power levels and want blackberry detractors, say it’s sloppy & founded on unwarranted down. What is never clearly enhanced & used for any packet, spanning rows & columns in search of more flexibility & trying to sneak your way but small? Can rare’s sugar sweet take on a gardening sim? They were fighting over a woman in the plane; some 41 rise against the pilots. How is this a stepping stone? Never-ending white lights break open a new market for 360 crack on size, this aluminum can store around the restrictions tripling the gross robustness. Do lips of an angel hinder your dangerous idea? Assumption’s juice? Have adjustability on the fly, my dynamometer.
Seven of Them
Maybe jacks will break it
Fours predict a combo
Brush off the salt, clear
With deer, barbed, & jagged
Thru the vale, bell just inside
The door clank, a window into
The truth behind television,
Where all beautiful this & that
Stand & tempt, tempt into
Buying things red & green
For the holidays, a sparkly
& a twisty & a careful, or not so.
Four yellow trucks form
A cross, heal, when third
Totals king & second
Rusts, thinking the carousel
Is more like an oval, yolk
More like an albatross, wheat
Something akin to glue, conjunct
& pulled with peppy steam.
Stir. The noodles are flat &
On this record player sound
Like coupling paint, a train
Toots from X to Y, makes
It seem as though all
The yard needs is a little love
& a few blueberries after all
End Up In
This road, where even the sunlight skidded to a halt
A trudge of friction, or a lack of definition
& 52 open for distribution
Spider webs make this tactile week slippery, to walk
In decline in anticipation of a curve, installations
Of random candy dot the field
& graph habitual, a dollop of vanilla frosting blankets
Your electronic profile—single & overstuffed
With stamps & landscapes, impartial
To extract, sat on a pile of needles in favor of an insight—
Pads wear, circuits migrate & exceed, glance
At the alarm & turn & feed
Nine blankets up to your ears & wrapped in bandages
Underneath, keeping the slices together
Bar to continuous slope, but wish
Simply to let them tile, avalanche of shale
Sliding one at a time under each wheel
Forcing a spin, what direction
This Absorbed Minutia
In heavily terms, paper money blue for the holidays
& reflecting the new government’s shine. Or:
Four dozen more than expected showed up to the party.
At least the slices can be tiny, and maybe
Only one tiny weeny. One side hoarded its beans
Into the neighboring cabinet—seven tall and three to four
Wide, assuming even a carpenter might be president
Some day. Through the press corps, a minotaur fights
To set off balloons on stage and whack the knees
No matter how baggy or bent or ruffled. Pool
Resources—a bag of this and a bowl of that,
Hint: Holly next to the cheese so carefully wedged
& running away from the one who did bring an axe
But just doesn’t like music. Background generates a surplus.
Couple with the late night desire to leave all apparel status quo
Highway
Gasoline’s lucky role play
Knowing it’s the only fuel along this
Or they could fall today: its glass checkerboard
Suspended & rolling one & on
For the first time out of synch with its bus’s circlet & determination
A bloody coup, if you ask me! I didn’t.
& dragged along where it’s matted & wonted wear
Or how many? Lined on table’s south, but, visiting
The same old story—nothing to
Or gain, crowded as grass,
Its several tongues lapping for water,
The one you took from me
& hated to scour & refrigerate