At The Musarium 31 by Peter J. Grieco

AT THE MUSARIUM 31

[22801 – 22900]

Roebuck wiggle, starfish tipple
& creel unsure of their mauser
oscillate circumspectly one self-sustaining
mis-step from trefoil immolation. But
despite the ides of reliquary, Browning
was no quitter. His effortless yoga
therapeutics intermingle, his
harum-scarum tornadoes reanimate
as far as westernmost Bucharest,
its wholeness disgorged of electromotive
abnormality—unlike the basso
sirocco amigo who fester
despondently with chiaroscuro
neurosis.

 

[27101 – 27200]
for Sheelagh

That fucking Massimo, nothing but boozing,
along with that hedonistic washout,
Mikhail. Dinosaurs the both of them.
They yowl & berate mommy & mothers-
in-law alike, the one a bullfrog, the
other an analog. Under the yarrow
or up in an axletree, they uncoil, a
centimetre past the deadline, daffy
& avuncular, & unsheathe themselves,
millimetre-by-millimetre, beyond
all circumvention. Now, no more of your
macabre metasyntactic molybdenum,
or, by Kraken, I’ll have the bouncer out
to castrate ye!

[32101 – 32200]

O accustomary desirer,
with all your accredits & qualia,
your handgun, your hype, & your howdy-do,
your squarehead, symbiosis, & legalese:
I’m not spoofing. I’ve got the lowdown.
You psycho, you megalomaniac.
No vivisectionist from Tupelo,
no pericardial Queenslander &
her kilderkin who binge on hand-me-down
shopworn retro-typeface & goofy
synergy can subsume the lionised
acute-angled Gabonese who don’t advertize
or those rambunctious Guyanese who zap
quixotically, or un-sync the authoring
of their enormousness—all for the burble
of a woodwind touterer.

[34801 – 34900]

Hmm! Another introvert at his eggcup,
dunking his lifesize hacksaw in the lavabo,
methamphetamine in his granola,
dopamine at the furcula of his
Oversoul. Who could ever dismast her?
My fylfot flip-flops, my germanium
ids: Should I parlay them off-the-wall? Or
lefthanded, levigate her hetero?
Hosannahing as the knotweed encodes,
deontology, with middle-earth to
juxtapose, while metadata inter-
digitate on the Nintendo hwy.
My endmost khanate, my Ivorian
hemp: Should I elide or Frenchify? Or
dear Karelia exfoliate?

©Peter J Grieco 2017

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Bio: Peter J. Grieco is a native of Buffalo, NY and teaches writing at the University of Buffalo where he wrote his dissertation on working-class poetry. He is a prolific song writer and poet. His work has appeared recently in Bond Street Review, Tiger’s Eye, Right Hand Pointing, Poehemians, Paper Nautilus, Constellation, Sand, Beard of Bees, and Chiron Review. “At the Musarium” is his series of semi-procedural verse based on 100-word sequences from word frequency lists.

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