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  • Buffalo and Marshmallows
  • John Yau

It’s an old glory when a toenail crocodile named Greta Gabo

boasts that any tall thumb tucking

pimple popper still in touch

with the bottom of his atavistic roots will soon be rented out

to the King of pencil Toads and his last iron caravan

Dairy wolves howl at empty spoon

while I sleep in black mall lily padded trailer park

answer the second second

I’m stalled in a parallel stupor squeezed between

red hurt of a fall potato and blue stones of a part-time seed shifter

I’m one of the jilted eager to bite the crust

I plead with what’s left of the steam engine because I know it’s soft pajamas

being one of the flies A free sample sniffing around

the tattered drums of the effluvial honey You get to count creamy blots and carpet burns

transmit grains of junked passion to the weekend handwarmers

west of Sandusky, Ohio adopted home of tormented petal pushers

one charm boxers and retired log nuts the whole glad parking lot of idle fun seekers

You even score the church fire and pray to the invisible camera

You get down on your full grown knees and you begin to stay

In better times, I lived on a bingo farm ate off a checkerboard

Each morning, I baked out the stains and flicked drivel into the yard


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