chicken fried turkey.

3 o'clock sunset:
digging chocolate chips out
of the ice cream box.

moustache bits litter
the sink, a razor blade on
the edge. dad lives here.

the suburbs make minds
fret over what to keep and
what to throw away.

when she's not looking,
he stuffs the trash can with a
porcelain swan-shaped vase.

she takes the trash to
the curb. the swan, salvaged, swims
on the garage shelf.

every bevery beetle cat
make me a town, flip-flop flat.
hominy, grits, pudding pie
evil weevil red tongue-tied.

eighty bumblers numblers gnat
knitting kittens into a hat.
how many sofas piled to the sky
will heed hum numbers outward guy?