T H E   D R E A M

I  N    W H  I  C  H
T            H            E

As the attic slips its sockets and
fills the drainpipes of our walls with
a carpet of frowzy ad-libs, these
shapes forget their asymmetries:
an iron, an oven, a hammer,
a rooster (pink), a hog (blanched),
a telephone sculpted buttery
and taciturn. I'm only telling you this game
sucks; there's nothing on the lacquered side
of the rafters, and no code whose
pauses can warp us out
of the way we've been living.
So these icons, still as pretentious as
they were when they awaited
my birth, will opt for the thin
invective of rudiments. All the usefulness
I revered has wizened itself, glitching
its face with scans of disfavor. To the vaults
who issued hourglasses to the ranks
of their precautions... I won't stand
in the way of your advance, or tumble,
or beg that you daze me correctly.


Where are you beautiful now?
Stars of mildew canopy
the toilet. Pages from
your thesaurus snow gallons
of microscopes. Circumferences
misspell flawlessly and with voiding
their scratches you'll find dunes.
A table too gigantic. Where you
were lovely, you're done, you're
out of conceit. The whole
goddamn: the proverbial
empties. Somehow, I don't care
anymore that I'm not fear.
                                                                THE DREAM
                                                           IN WHICH
                                          YOU ARE PAIRED
                                                      WITH A NEW


Joe Milazzo is the author of the chapbook The Terraces (Das Arquibancadas) (Little Red Leaves Textile Series, 2012). His writings have appeared in H_NGM_N, The Collagist, Drunken Boat, Black Clock and elsewhere. Along with Janice Lee and Eric Lindley, he edits the online interdisciplinary arts journal [out of nothing]. He is also the proprietor of Imipolex Press. Joe lives and works in Dallas, TX, and his virtual location is http://www.slowstudies.net/jmilazzo.