Catapulted sub-genre painters,
'the boys--the dogs of war
no one knows about'
shot across opposite tobacco oceans,
eaten by Helicoprions,
a B-rated villain.
Otherwise these teeth whips
are starved by peanut-hull boats
--the artists barely make impact--
Hungry drip paths,
bright stars stare back
with teeth like oak chairs.
Happy children,
always happy children
run with kites on orange-sprayed blades of grass.
They trip
--forms of dice against doorknobs.
The eternal squares before the yellow canaries
are so fast
they crest the eagle's head
atop the totem pole.
Mad ******* cry, as Alice commanded, about the death of all oral tales
--enraged laborous *** laughing
at what we do.