From Take Out Delivery

We’ve Come for your Scouting Report

M. Gorbachev recently revealed that he was a huge fan
of Tug McGraw, said he was akin to “a bioluminescent
leviathan, a stallion on the mound.” What are the odds
on another October? I find myself looking on a stained
glass window: A carousel of traffic lights for ballerinas
with varicose veins. My feet are sweating and blathering
on about leaping us skyward off the diamond. A mosaic
of staircases set to the tune of Vladimir Putin singing a
song of old Rasputin. Final score: Baseball’s beautiful.

We’ve Come for your Extended Spine

Inhale upward facing cat. Exhale to downward dog. It’s
healthier to Namaste than Tastykake. Woman walks by
with yoga mat rolled in her bag. Warrior Two. Bow and
arrow notebook — target acquired: shots fired. And from
the minaret, the minaret of breath, phthalate-free prayer
rugs unfurl: Sequences tone as if adjustable sculptures of
paperclips. Carbo-loaded, my chakras are all full of pasta.
After then it ricochets—trajectory: direct to Trader Joe’s.

We’ve Come for your Special Forces

I’m not sure about the juxtaposition of that Gestapo officer
and the Buddha’s Bo tree. Ripping off all the buffalo’s limbs
except its wings. Even if World War II knows W. H. Auden
oughtn’t be toyed with, B.A. Baracus is still messing around
with his maracas. Stark raving mad scavenger hunt. People
of the Gulf of Mexico. A crowd of kids gather on the beach
while their parents wonder what to feed them all for dinner.