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07
Jun

POEM: Yellow Sun Atomic Pinata

YELLOW SUN ATOMIC PINATA

Stars are denser than desire, I guess.
Stars burn longer than sticks in flame.
Crack the Atomic Sun Piñata, as
tassels of paper hair curls trail in
exhausted ribbon stripes. Witness this
two year old little girl who cannot
muster the strength to bust the face,
even when assisted by a full grown adult.
Just hit the face

WHACK

This paper is yellow and so are
the bachelors teeth, this bachelor,
your narrator. And you’re not the
bachelor, you’re one of the happy
child bearing couples, cameras in
hand rowed against the wallpaper.
And

WHACK

A blue orb of garish diamond
is plucking out bachelor eyes, a finger
ring of bachelor death, fiery blazing
radiation mote in eye, broken blue ice bashed
in cornea, blinded stick gouging

WHACK

Is ten years bachelor time really a
window into cardboard? Your
diamond ring, sir, should be simple
yet elegant, you don’t want her to have
to hide it in modesty. Ultimately
unobtrusive, elusive, somewhat
abusive, you shouldn’t have to turn
the gem around, until you plunge it

WHACK

into the eye of the bachelor, the runny
eye of the bachelor, the main face of the
room dominated by the ATOMIC SUN
PINATA, and instant camera flash strobe blinding
bachelor; children swarm like solar
locusts around the mortal cracking sun.
Nursery iconography poorly substitutes
itself as a galaxy of cutey cutey fuzzy face
creatures, mocking and infantile,
commercialized cryptozoological
goo goo creatures stalking

WHACK

the sanity of the bachelor phased
out by cartoon stars

WHACK

Choose a color for your intended
lover, platinum white gold, yellow
diamond, blue diamonds, you should
be spending

WHACK

four months of your salary in order to

WHACK

Last year baby put hands in cook cook
cake, and bachelor went out with that
school teacher over there two times
and now she’s covered from head to toe,
from head to neck in blue icing, in blue
diamond, in diamond ring, in your tender
tender man, bachelor want to

WHACK

dispose of your husband and slip hands
in blue jeans, milk your stars and

WHACK

cake time, sister wears party hat
when she takes mop to bring back the
balloon on the ceiling, and when she
stretches her shirt rides up and the bachelor
sees a lollypop flat belly and

WHACK

She’s ten years younger than you, bachelor
fiend, you really want to sandbag all
the pretty maids reading this poem and

WHACK

Mother passes stick from boy to girl,
from girl to boy, from this one to
that one, and

WHACK

it’s a stick in your eye, and that’s your
face, that’s a stick and that’s your face

WHACK

Watch where you’re going with the
chips honey, I didn’t mean to hit
you honey, with the bowl, honey honey,
the chips the chips, the dying yellow
jaundiced burned out dead star yellow
of the spilled and crusty chips, honey
yellow like the bachelors teeth turn
yellow like the

WHACK

Stuck, sorry honey, it’s stuck
and whoever uses the word honey
in a poem is hit by the psycho stick
of piñata death, is thrown burning and
screaming into the hot surface of the
sun, and the face of the piñata plasma, the
bachelor’s burnished face, and all humans, and
me and you, and her and him and boys
and girls and a diamond rings and paper hearts
fly into the hydrogen furnace

WHACK

AHHHHHHH!!!! Candy cascades,
edible meteors comet down, and
shudder sunder surrender and spill,
a blink avalanche of gravitational
crashcake – boys and girls and girls and boys are
blinded too by the sunshower of
toy wrapped taffy, cellophane candy
canes, closed multicolor necklace
cherries, chocolate balls and radiation
poisoning.

All lunatics young and old, children
of the stick and parents on parade, fill
plastic baggies with promises and
vows and contracts and good and
good and good. Bachelor leaps for
the carpet, absconds with one strawberry
toffee, unwraps it, pulling wings off
the solar fly, entering mouth, chew
chew chew, toffee pull teeth, stick
on molar. The sun totters a dying
rondo, weakly swaying, hanging by
a string, rotating in a last busted
spin in air.

The sun is dead, long live the candy
guts of the dying face! Taffy overwhelms the
bachelor — he’s rejuvenated,  ten years younger, spry
in May, feeling warm living sun tingle on
the bare of his bachelor back,  he’s fixated,
stuck in bachelor holes in busted stars,
far from diamonds, and birthdays, and cake,
in it;  in the atomic piñata sun, the fresh
sun, the warm sun, the unbattered,
atomic reaction bachelor sun, long
before stick and tatter,  in love
with hydrogen shades, in dense heat

ANNIHILATION ATOMIC ANNIHILATION
ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC ATOMIC
ANNIHILATION ANNIHILATION ANNIHILATION

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