Summer 2004 vol 3.2
 
 
 
 
from Sixty Instant Messages to Tom Moore
Paul Muldoon
XXVII

The puff-cheeked rower
rotates his oarís water-globe.
Puff-cheeked glassblower.



XXIX

The worm that attacks
my large intestine has cut
me a little slack.



XXX

A calabash knocks
on another calabash.
This place really rocks.



XXXI

Once a lichened breast
turning from lake to lilac
was the litmus test.



XXXII

Iíve tested the crowd
with my elbow. Body heat.
All youíve disavowed.



XXXIII

Such technophobes,
those fireflies down and dirty
in the disco-strobe.



XXXIV

The sput-sputter-sput
where the idling fish-torcher
lights on halibut.



XXXV

Brash, though. Brash, brash, brash.
The tree frog that weighs no more
Than your cigar-ash.



XXXVI

Bindweed, or smilax.
The bundle of elm-branches
vindicates the ax.