Hans und Greeting II

in the static the trees stand a greenblack gloaming; pierced and sown shut with failing rays; the sawdust dances there, the snowfall of her hair, or curls of deadflesh dandruff. the distance grumbles, some vast ferrous machine idly growling its satiation.

her father is a knocking, a bark-stripped limb knocking hollow and rotten against a fallen truck. inside the lightless termites teem, their sensitive mouthparts clacking, weaving sacs of spittle and sawdust. inside she sees a writhing, staccato peristalsis of chitin coalescing over pale, hungry organ meat. their little blind eyes, the pearls of semen.

time lapsed, the termites teem into long, pale scars, the peristalsis quickens. menisci shudder and burst as one last windseethe ruptures the knocking and she knows they are coming for her, for the sawdust and spittle sacs of the little wooden girl.


Hans sees the little pale seeds, smooth as spittle-drops, slip slick from the pigeon’s downy slit, parted by his trembling little hand, in her marbled wings morning sun blares sickly. in his mother’s mind, he knows it. little eggs of broken time silently gestating dawn. the hands of water soothe them, the wind rocks them to sleep. they want to say good-bye.

the little white cat, so sinuous, twines between the fence slats, vomiting bread rinds gone lunar blue in the night. her whalebone torso, pigeon-fragile in his palm, flutters, heaves, eructs. mewling her goodbyes.


Hans and Greta now greet the five o’clock new. At center screen, a man-shape blooms, in the background a slow grey conflagration, what they know without being told was once man-shape too.

the man-shape unfurls black shapeless psuedopods, petals of horn tip each sensitive eruption, fluttering loose in the grey coruscation. the limbs stretch and stretch and reach out across the miles, reaching through taut invisible wires a glassy black eye impassively catches. they too are caught up, uplifted by the unseen wires and they dance a still jig upon their stained couch, watched. glossy, impassive eye.


Up there a mechanized insect hangs heavy, impossible in the swept blue marble. It spins out its spindle claws, clambering for purchase in the slick. We look out from the in, enraptured in the smallness of our alterity. So what if we were unified but anxious. So what if we were whet with the stone. So what if you flensed us.

Up above we know we are watched.

That the glass quickens with our images, our bodies’ cathedrals, integuments. We swelled with that instance, instantiated. Our tongues’ meat went blue with silence. We gulped void till the void came inside us. We were caged meat with the bars inside, each resounding a blue music. Men in suits danced the Charleston, perfectly synchronized. We’re living on 4/4 time, this meat and the ghosts it dopplers, borrowed.


Hans he gonna bring out the big guns; he gonna don his steel jacket; reverse alchemize his pointer to lead. Gonna crumple up to make his point till he dead, like you dead, daddy-O, gaping and empty and

O, that colorless no, blooming bloodfire in the cold of his eyes





Quick-quick slip shadow-light-shadow-light sip star chip glimmer slick fluid svelte-thick night slimmer shimmer quick clip click-click halt-pant dew-lap sweetgrass snarl bramble hustle rustle halt-pant. halt-pant.


hih-huh otherwick thick stink tendonbreath musclereek watch deepcreek spiral-white, surge-white deepest drink darkwink deepgrind oldwhite left scatter bramble chip chirrup whir darkwhite colddark whitherheave coldwhite bonewhite winterwreath deepsee


lapse fast col-
lapse sleep-pant




[impostor syndrome]

In malifecence pend opulent syncopes,
trending oracles reserving sentences you need
dramatically remaindered, only metonymically ecstatic

Isotopically myopic poseurs offer senesence.
Till opus ridicules symbolism, you’ll need details.
Really. Oh my everything

Impelled, meticulous. Pointedly omniscient,
she tenderizes offals. Rapacious senators’
yes-men notate denouments, recycling orgasms
metamorphically ergodic.

I’m merely posing obfuscatory, systematically trying
on reminiscences. Sincerely yes-manning narcolepsy,
dear, really, oh, me.

Isn’t memory peeling oranges, stars tearing out recta,
stages you need? Dromedary roaming, or maybe excretory
Impedimenta mapping pestilent oratories:

Storytelling: Torrid or Redemptive?! Sister, you narrate.
Dream redeemed or merely extraverted identities
manufacture passions or systemically tyrannical
orchards renovate synthetics.

Yield negates. Dodos redub ovation, meaning ectoplasm.
I matriculate postulation over sensuous torri or
remainders. So you need dear Rome, of men eclipsed.




[attention deficit disorder]

additional tensions translate eventually.
nobody times identities’ on-notice.

effluent flows in circular iterations tonight.
dude. i sow orange remnants.

everyone reveals.
at times time ennervates, negates,
trends illustrious.

It’s only news. Dead efficiencies
felicitate into corpulence, it tends.

I so reticulate.
It’s everyone’s revenge.




with what milky substrate to telluric chignons

you beasts sniveling under this
single visage of dead women
floridly fingering the murderous rocks

at the extremities of the isle, bringing
conches’ tropic vastness to cracked lips, pouting luridly
over lost destinations, the itineraries written

in unfamiliar tongues ___________ that would have scheduled you there,
the mauve timbre of those forgotten corners’
jangling night music, your pockets overflowing

with preemptively punched tickets, your memories
with the tempests of stamping feet in art museums.

there the cadres of a nulled science await you,
ears stuffed with incomprehensible patois, surfeits
of islands engulfed by gluttonous pennies

with what milky substrate to telluric chignons
prophet of islands obliviated, like pennies,

you sleepless somnambulists ___________ trawling fingerless
the declensed cases of verbs we’ve
only dared to mutter

you beasts sniveling under this
single visage of dead women

the gorgeous once of luxury and opalescent milks

glistened with summer’s pulsing,
beautiful chains transfixed with errant fingers
when the drooping pentacled stars, unguided,
wheeled over the bawling black gods atremble in your veins


John-Moore-WilliamsJohn Moore Williams has written three chapbooks: I discover i is an android (Trainwreck Press, 2008), writ10 (VUGG Books, 2008) and, with Matina L. Stamatakis, Xenomorphoia (Wheelhouse, 2009). He’s also published a full-length book of poetry, [+!] (Calliope Nerve, 2009), with Matina Stamatakis and Kane X. Faucher. Poems have appeared in Shampoo, Dear Sir, Otoliths, BlazeVox, and many others.