Prannic Squid Named Laura
for Lowell, Meredith, Tim and John Coltrane (Individually then all together)
Butchered Switch is proud to present this post as a remedy or further confusion of these questions.
Seeds borne to foreign
cities floating silhouette and throat
singing in the sky
under the sun and the evening,
going with and meeting scoundrels.
This is where insert your memory.
Your stories recall
unseen places, patterns of behavior and
spoke over smoke in sunglasses
with an air, something in the ear
rings heavy, all
not as it seems.
this idea of creating
through interaction with scoundrels
we draw to us somehow.
more than luck, we want.
we do not want. Bang,
split. that’s it.
we are all Laura Palmer.
the multiples are, but do not, can not, meet.
swirl and sift,
like grades of fuel,
above our crude, the ghost.
The smoke of our self
burns up the chimney.
Breaking placenta of space
the thick invisible
bridged to ours by a rope
tethered to the skull’s crown.
A tentacle, if you will,
dragging along down on the bottom of the sea,
dangled lazily by the giant prannic squid, named Laura,
measureless mass the size of our mind
all their tentacles together,
telepathy is the electricity traveling these channels,
it can happen that the body gets a whiff
a glimmer of this orgy,
but the totality or scale we can’t fathom.
The squid drag us,
they are big balloons with just enough air to lift us onto tip toes,
skirting the turf,
going and doing what we do not want,
hence we stress