Back to Luke Buckham's Artist PageTo the Artist's Page                 Back to the Unlikely Stories home pageTo our home page
landscape & brainTo Luke Buckham's previous piece     binocular necrosisTo Luke Buckham's next piece

my short-cuts have all been paved

the moment i arrive in heaven
i'll find someone with a face like a half-moon for conversation
because i am tired of features
and i have seen god finally sob on a bed he never needed
now when i get tired i toss water on my copied face   (photographs
to simulate tears for passing relief                    rippling)
the last time i made love a wallpaper chameleon tied my eyelashes together 
now i see all these taxi crashes & fast food commercials 
through a lattice of bulging black
she sold her uterus to a confused watch repairman
globules of mercury in the toilet water
thermometers and pillow feathers invade my afternoon naps
the backyard river shows me a seam straining between the halves of my brain
the spine of a misplaced eel
(sex math/buried bell)declaration of independence hung from a clothesline with my stiff 
underwear underwear underwear
(mute executioner/happy racists)5th amendment soaking in the sink
all the runaways kids are given masks; that's why they stay on their milk cartons 
my expanding vocabulary alienates my family of silence--
shut up for a minute, mr president.
pulling a new shoelace from the ear of a rat--return to the wall, all of you! 
utter chaos of hotel toilets flushing all at once in the power outage
the army recruiter cut my breakfast orange in half with a clean bayonet
& put a convenient bullet hole through the newscast & the milk carton
an efflux of birds from an abandoned house's chimney 
leads the way to insomniac sleep
(paralytic lovers/lollipops)bill of rights burning in my grandfather's numb hand
he smiles, a leaf curling slowly in warm December 
i hate nature &           (oil & water look like
i hate technology          brain fluid when finally mixed)
i want my word processor to grow careful roots
& microchips to find the unrest of tree bellies
screens of bark & branches of metal would make me comfortable
she's so beautiful that when she goes out the sidewalks piss themselves
in their many concrete-dusted denim pants
anteaters benevolently attack the restless punctuation in all my notebooks
spores taking shelter on the root of my tongue
write cowardly speeches for me to gargle away with rubbing alcohol
i fell in the kitchen under the scent of my heavy recipes
& was wrapped in a tuxedo of linoleum
i warm my hands in the palpitating oven
to caress my few memories of breasts
i close my eyes around girls of angular woven straw
who try to strike damp matches 
on the worries of each other's foreheads.
i ended the day with an axe 
but it came back with a wet flag. 

To the top of this pageTo the top of this page