poetry, my albatrosper

i am brutus
big and fat
i kick {peep!}
popeye's ass
the curse of the rhyme
is the removal
of the mariner

the merry nurse
was missing
the police had called me
at my meeting
of aging philatelists
leaving an automated call
for me to pick up her body
at the 'carlo's curve' station

the car was a long blue S
my head
my neck
my groin
all these were heavy metal albatross
and there i moved along
in the painting of the ocean's

foam and hiss
and i made green popeye
osiris
to my eye in olive's oil

and in the morgue (kinder)
the craft scientist filled out our paperwork
of the very deep rot
of the ocean's dream
and then when i came to you
as a can of spinach
to your warhol ivory tusk pianos
i came indeed
to love you
to love you always
though you were made of such things


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