Remote Control Baloney Sandwich

Begin with an army of cars

under a tiara

a brazen discussion of chicken styles.

Divorced, part wolverine,

I’m a diva of the air

forming a compass

in the humidity.

It was a bad bit of combat

a piece of punting pie

say goodbye to the robot in the gravel

the gold medallions on the plate

why do we want a blue hocus-pocus

is there no other way

to dip your foot in quartz?

I thought I could never feel anything again

then I painted myself white

& waited for a wino

who called himself Mr. Bag.

My house is a crazy Volvo

no one’s driving.

In a moment or eight

the corners will be on fire

and where will you be then

my disheveled porcupine
my skidrow crow?