❀ Maurice Oliver
        
✾ Blank. Placards. Resonating.

        For example, the chance to bamboozle moonlight.

        An attempt to evaluate the talent of kid gloves.

        Drinking canary punch deep in a coal mine.


        The experimental booty of omnipresent gluttony.

        Blood banished from a finger in the dyke.

        Cornrows festering in the pores of lip gloss.

        Insouciance that wanders like a nomad.

        LSD as it jumps from a twenty story window.

        Or redemption, yeastily beering in a stein.


        
✾ "What's My Line" Sonnet

        So try to set ordinary sand on fire. Staring
        at Van Gogh's ear. Easter in a bunny
        suite. Table your apron and sing for some
        soup. Fast-food wrappers blowing around
        the convent. A window with bars. And the
        brain does the talking. In late summer in
        southern Siam. I'm a bass band. She's a
        campsite. And rain pours in like salt.
        Gallows with a hangman's noose in the
        backbeat. Pills that know how to shallow?
        And his boyfriend is French-Haitian riding
        a kite. Bet on liver. Walking my dog bone.
        And it took years for the disease to become
        famous. So who is Amherst? With all three
        thumbs up. And every one is a party animal.
        And the rest is art history class.
        
        
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