K. Silem MOHAMMAD










New York


I have recently moved to New York
and am trying to put together
this map of the musical youth sex trade
and all the animals who work for it

twelve years’ reminiscences
of ice cream sundaes
boyfriend, boyfriend’s in the stars
making beds together in his absence

Nightwood uses what sculpture police
called “curled lip in straw”
(Anna Freud seen briefly
as Nazi baroness)

Jesse shot Boyer and Boyer knifed Jesse
boring office messages uses “green”
that they includes presented
earthbound construction keep the richness

the works on mirrors
usually best if uppercase
has been folded out of the kitchen
but does crazy sell books?

when welfare workers
arrive together we can totally
eat animals made of brains and nerve
always wanted to and now I get to










Interesting Rocks


scientists have identified several
interesting rocks they’d like to study
in front of this niche
which I had never been to
in the defile of what’s now standing
where the “information” goes

it had not erupted and is not expected to
every child matters to museums
I don’t back up like I ought

anyway I managed to avoid
obstacles we hadn’t gotten around
as well as make mixes
of classical CDs

to listen to in the car
till I got specifically airborne








The Name Mom Stitches on All My Shirts


I’m sitting in a hospital dying a horrible painful death
I can recite all the presidents in order
but I have no shadow
I am in a land of ringtones all alike

I am dying to sing that shiny song
the worst by far of all the hourly jeers
is not a nuisance to me at all like any other
that ex-lovers are really dying for

then I get a little bit lonely I’m grabbing your hand
or zoning your home in undergrads’ laundry
or frozen asparagus to children’s programs
and things like that

your machine is a baby talker and my ice cream is dying
lying in bed, dying of nothing, and naturally
that little engine in your body burns all day
like hearsay that can’t turn itself into history

Joan of Arc was a piece of land
thousands of French bacteria own it all the way
sex, it was sex for them
yeah and dying that’s good too

as long as you are over 18 you should hope it all works out
after all what is life
deer and quilts and getting hit on
it’s very important, I tell my old lady that all the time







Wyatt Earp


instinctively igniting outfits in an ocean
I spat and began zooming
stupid gymnasium more than I could grunt

I shot the coyote into a certain pattern
abrupt and just publicly plastic flesh
the quiet feature taking up the funeral

now I have li’l yellow paw-print next to my piano
naked, fragile, the odd
footpad not the same

she took the dirt bottles of her sincerity
and slid it up a blank tasty jerking sign
fringing her meat bowl and leaf walks

cuddled the merchandise below anything
she was getting it now, unworldly
as she was she massaged my nuts

but perchance the friends of blast teats
admire both binocular naturist contests
hadn’t been with a dad in grounds and bang on me

verification is unto toothache characteristic
and I would get better deals at the garage
if I had a dingle dangle of my own

Wyatt Earp proves there’s an upside
so I tease the other world with one toe
and distorted to smooch it

being a humorist is what makes me great
the makeshift laptops of valuable realism
are capital and addicting ages ago


 


 





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