SNACKS

by Jarrad Ackert

 

1

Man with a dead snowball eye, left arm and left face made putty by the sun

cigarette-spark his own special flower-bloom

town and city limits: no vacancy: for his tears

man with a dead snowball eye, 40 ton grandmaster of the road

pissing in a bottle.

 

2

Now, it’s the end of the world and everyone wants to trade in their

knickknacks, odds-n-ends, devices, their

stuff

for something more meaningful.  But it’s too late.  There’s a urinal on dis-

play in an art museum,

somewhere.

 

3

I have a coffee cup, an official one:

 

U.S. ARMY

                                                                               on both sides of the handle.

It is colored black as roof-tar.  All I need now is a scythe.

 

4

I love you because you suffer.  If you don’t feel that love, it’s because you work in an

office and don’t realize it-

that comedy with the sad clown interior design.

 

5

In the sink dozens of slick whiskers, or chocolate sprinkles for the licking cat

staring at the milk of my new cheek.

I gather them up into a square, box that up and mail it to Van Gogh’s ‘Self Portrait with

       Straw Hat’.

The black will blend well with the yellow face,

as crows gliding across the plain.

 

6

Curfew only abides to those with a place to go.

 

7

For 30 years of life, men stand under artificial lighting.  The cafeteria workers dress in

blue tunics.

The cat tries to make-out with me at 5:20 am.

None of this makes sense; so it’s no wonder why the reporters have been eating it up

          twisted and the public

has gone stir-crazy inspired.

 

8

My bedsheet is a blue ocean.  I get lost in it.

My armchair is a school of salmon.

Being a merman can get lonely sometimes, but I never looked good in a leather jacket

anyways.

 

 

 

 

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