DOOR TO DOOR IT’S FORTY
Crayola heartbeats steal meats
from slovenly dinosaurs
while wholesale musty regattas
earn purchase on cartwheeling stilettos
of mutton-chop fortitude.
Insolvent holly-lipped gangrened interns
sip holocaust marmalade scones rapaciously
through rubber-necked safety straws
while their myo-cardial intellect
reaches subterranean armistice
on a rubber-stamped committee’s bedpan.
The homeless pisspot au-gratin
makes heat from yesterday’s paychecks
while their tongueless cousins
stir bottomless cups of tetrahedron sausage
by electric wafflelight.
Ladies have become men
and cashews swallow peanuts
by the half-shell,
carping for carpal-tunnel somnambulation,
a half-toed defenestration,
masked veneer of relative condemnation,
ride the silver-tipped electric coach
into the rolling hassocks of tomorrow.
BLAH BLAH BLAH BOOM
Abalone turnstiles, muskrat manifesto
pendulous pajamas, perforated pudenda.
Docile deliverance, voluptuous vomitorium,
pubescent penchant, underhanded euphonium.
Tertiary tastelessness, unbridled ubiquity,
constant acquisition, rapacious reproductiveness.
Elastic egoism, concentrated cold-bloodedness,
tumescent technologism, lovesick laboriousness.
Jaunting juxtaposition, gradual gesticulation,
Fecund dilation, bombastic belligerence.
Etruscan erudition, bountiful acquiescence,
contrite cavaliers, conditioned cacophony.
Mellifluous malady, placebo politics,
holocaust homeland, marshmallow military.
D i v i n e B i r t h r i g h t
masquerading in mascara,
speaking in silence,
laughing in looms of livestock
and tasteless teabags,
plastic picture frames,
and blood that sticks to the bone.
Omar Azam was raised and lives in Chicago and has roots in India and Pakistan. His poetry has been recently published in The Houston Literary Review, vox poetica, and Anastomoo.