*We've Come For Your Wild Goose Chase*
In one free fall after another, Geronimo plants bombs on the
US in 3D. Fatherlands play punk tracks to calm crocodiles at
night in their cradles. Crib notes. Sketchpad scavenger hunt.
WCW knows all the right words, but those two clowns with
no clothes on say, “Let the light decide.” When I walked out
a woman was untangling her headphone wires. They told me
nothing about being alive to the possibilities of insomnia in
the recession, but nonetheless invited my minefields to grow
Galileos at every new nuking of her butter-flavored popcorn.
Author Discusses Poems