&

MD & JD

G

glut of glottal noise
of angry boys’ gloss
over that great growl

of girls’ guts grown coiled
remains that way will maul
it where it lays Columbus melees,

‘Lanes’ ground down grim gives
playback for a his-tactic, more
gore got going going gone

(keeps going)

MD & JD

B

It begins where bees buzz
buzzing like a blade, like a bed
blooms blessings, bleeds spades
blinking in dirt boxes, blink-clicks
linking bees, beads. Bee bodies
breeding our leaves, our
believings. Believers we become
in body but not in being seen
(in beating). Who is looking?
Boxing remains for being
stored, being looked at
later, being smaller having
been hidden—-all this time be-
coming our calling: busy sisters
being better. Our best blades
bewilder the weather, be-
wild churches, beget beast
creatures becoming betters—-
Brothers. Sisters. Betwixters.

MD & JD

Z

Above, the zodiac was
unzipped – fell hell
all sides skinned
feeling from

 

Zero
honed zebra in
malevolent zones----
zwieback zapped----

 

Zilch----as
a metal taste
shut in----laid waste

 

Escape----
a zigzag motion in
            the s sound

 

Snake unwinds itself to snakes around

 

Again &
            again slithers----behind
                        zero & zero signed----

 

ALL
ZOOS
IN
WARTIME

			           				

MD & JD

W

War was where we wore our wills:
wild, wooly, whiskered in wizened
white webs for warmth. Whelping
wherever it was wide enough to wander
in and settle down, wondering
when winter would end, wallowed
in with the wilting wet willows
waxed with worm-waste. We weren’t
waiting to be wicked, whale-tethered
waist-to-waist. Rather, we waited—-
watched—-for weather while weaving
wreathes—-whore-whorled whispers—-
while growing woody, thicker. Worn
worlds waste and worry. Where-never
when who will ask, “which sister is which
sister?” and we will answer, “With her. With her.”

MD & JD

M

‘multitudinous seas’

(1)

Man-of-war moves upon my

Mother that moaning muscle

Muzzled (maybe), moreover

Moving melodious meat whose

Machine un-wars tho mangled she yet

Making the middle

the sea

(2)

Mother that moaning muscle
Milking the market its motto my

Mastiff, too, manages my
Morals, my lawn the morning proliferate.

Manufactured to tame they tried—-much
Mulch was made of it—-yet—-my made

Magics movement maintained

(3)

Mastiff, too, manages

Miles, marriage—-her

Muddled end a—-machina

Macbeth! a lady

Making! backstage

Matters more

MD & JD

V

Vex, my sister. Very verving, veering. Very
weird weather we’re having. Halving Venus
dropping veins of blue light, neon vixens
valuable and uncurling, unnerving. We’ll
cover the ova, the covens half hovering.
Pretend we’re virgins. Very vestal.
Too many to number
but in denominations of seven.
November severs our weavers, orb wives
sweating valium, wet veils for viewing ruins
without perceiving the broken parts—-the vacant
vacuums without houses, havens. We’ve
resurrected venal webcams, silver eyes
for seeing all that should have happened—-
that veneration of vermillion, the plush
vulpine pulse of violence across the views.

MD & JD

F

Who beganby filling
fields with falls

fellows in fox
folding in holes

history’s foliage—-corpse covered
some ‘hall’ applauds—-furs, food,

frond of it
faintingfrom it

sheflattenedknew
‘forward’ as ‘fading’ foot

by foot the dragging fit
the 19th centuryflow

forget for the good of fleeing,
fleeing that frontier feeling

What begins as fields

'