This Poem

Adeena Karasick

This is a poem
thick with verisimilitude
percipacity, a surface of pixilated proxy,
paroxysms of purring wreckage,
of the plaça baja brouhaha
of minced meaning
twittering with clotted shtick
all loosely metaphorical, this poem
like the interior of a scrotum scourge sucking
the miasma of regional synonymy
seeks solace through
synaptic access, recessed messastics, elastic massacres of
flossy früz fidgets
like a prissy pussy-poser
all pompous and prose-cut like
saboteurs of
a scarred antinomy, bon bon boullion,
pinged pharmakons of texticity
laced between the primped pouty outskirts of
This poem may be under video surveillance

and is cowering
in the corners of
sticky torqued tourniquets,
pixilated foxy poppers
flotsam fraught
phantasms, fantasy, phonemes
a pin-up panoply
of mad avarice –
       (mortgaged with artisanally tossed entitlement),
And comes to you with an explosion of brattiness
all festive and vulnerable
like a shag bang slutty punk foreclosure,
and has been fortified
with 9 essential vitamins and 14 socially constructed subjectivities
metastasized into abstract tradable commodities.
This poem wants a bailout package.
                              Drowning in a flood of liquidity,
                              it is in over its head.
                              It is on the street selling its ass-
                              ets and can no longer manage its portfolio.
It is a ”liar loan”
brought to you by the letter A
in pussy puissance
punch-drunk parlance, pimped-up
proxy sprockets of deteral, deferral, detritus, radical grafts
it has been mechanically butchered
plucked, skinned stretched and sacrificed.
Full of indignation and revolt
like death in full daylight
This poem is waiting
for the next available cashier;
struggling through defects, deficits, demands
of morning enjambment;
all sybaritic and sticky
like a slimy pissoir of devastating infestion;
a virally infectious mess of
phlegmy hemorrhaging, an homage
of mucilaginous machination.
And in dissonant acquisition, this poem
has become a raw mass of reflecting radar,
a cluster of wreckage
Yet, in the juicy tumult
this poem is having a party
in the limbs of
in the rustling of the sentence, in the rugged
witness of
the wracked fracas
of spasms, chasms
soaring abysses
conflagratively gagged
in the skin of the sky
Flocks opuli umlaut candyfloss pingpong gangbang wampum
pompom of shimmy shimmy shawshank
of jiminy fricatives all melancholic mukluk with monarchial fervor,
this poem says yes to the flustered torment, to the minutiae
of twisted infection, inflexion
and the oscillating urgency of
the pulsing piccolo plucked
puckering pickwicked perkaset
impossibly perambulate –
Yes to the festering ensemble of
ravaged abscess, spastically re-mastered
with laissez pousser
pimped out frisée
of a trickle-down bric-a-brac crack track
wracked with the burgeoning twitter
of sweet sweet sweet
This poem is non-refundable
may incur penalties or increased fines,
suffers from liability, limitation
and has been inoculated with
swine flu
It wants to change its seat assignment, its order
its wake up call --
and is offering a good faith estimate lock-in
This poem is a predatory lender
just wants to place its lips upon your ankles
your spreadsheets, your wounds
your pounding insignias that asphyxiate in the scourging
in the thrumming tumult of circuitous chaos in the anchored
excess of all that is ravaged, savage, sublime and crawling with urgency --
This poem is raging with an
inadequate regulatory system
like a pontificating ponzi with no commodity futures;
It just wants to spread its premium,
its megabet, its margins,
manage its capital(s)
it’s interminable interest
through hideous silences an asylum of sentences
wretchedly entwined in opiates of toxic investment
bracketed in the visceral caverns
of daily carnage