BOBBY FULLER WROTE THAT
GREAT SONG ON MY iPOD
PLAYING ALL THE WHILE
The drunk oxidized one murderous forsythia
out back of the dwarf
I heard harmonica from some dang porch swing.
My hand leaked
into a transistor radio I’d made
from gunny-sack, mud and ear.
The one-eyed girl who swiveled funny
came my way.
I could feel her crawl down the dirty fleece
my skin was.
FROM A TIBETAN SCHOOLBOOK
OF THE DEAD ENGLISH PRIMER
for Ben Mirov
Where is the museum of prayer flags?
I have an animal of elegant limb.
Which mountain peak would you recommend
for its transcendent view? I have never seen
a lung fish. Have you?
How many kilometers to the nearest embassy?
My father is an embassy official and I am in desperate need
of a dentist. Please have the valet summon
an herbalist. The abscess progresses.
What sports do you enjoy? My uncle
played cricket swimmingly. Does your mother enjoy
the domestic arts? I originate
from a land that is low and flat. We have livestock
abundant, a number. Your coat is very
handsome and your wife is very delightful.
I have only a limited quantity
in funds. I will be leaving tomorrow
for India. I am politically a neutral.
How many sisters do you have?
Is that woman your sister?
I play traditional songs on my mouth organ.
The lung fish is indeed esteemed.
Sweet tea is rampant. Where can one go?
I will visit the monastery this evening
where the Buddha is much beloved.
I have several prayer flags in my valise.
Would you like two? Three?
The attractive tourists are Danish, though my
remembrances might be confused.
I saw one tourist doing deep-knee bends
beside the stream of restorative properties.
She wore athletic apparel.
I would be honored to view further
any attractive incarnation.
Where can I buy a skillet?
I have worn mine out.
Because I have been praying strenuously since my arrival
by plane my tour
has been thus far pleasant. How many
kilometers to the nearest temple?
It has been two months
since I last performed any ritual utility.
I agree kind sir the dead like to be honored.
BOTTLED MILK, DELIVERED DAILY
I revered the murals in your father’s house
Especially the one called ‘The New Boredom’,
When we left no one came to say goodbye
Because even the neighbors kept track of
How many times we left milk on the porch
To sour. On the road arm in arm in arm,
We crawled humbled by the ways and means
Committee of the heart that let us go where
We amused various red faced babies.
So many raindrops, so few teeth.