James Sanders



Muzak for the Red Lobster

our puberty aligned by excuses and company and fitness or hope for puberty and excuses for puberty and the Care Bears for puberty and puberty, excuses and puberty and puberty and alignment and hope fitness pubed by our excuses        Excuses!  This is fitness.  Fitness, this is puberty.  Care Bears, these are excuses for puberty, align the hope and fitness or the vowels of excuses and puberty and puberty and puberty and excuses and something. We all hope. That the web of puberty and vowels continue like lubed finches floating on

y soap? receding over time and the white voweled web never ends.  Who never end and in excuses and fitness and fitness from vowels and company. Darth Vader is pink. Darth Vader goes thru puberty.  Excuses go thru puberty and Darth Vader.  Who? out and the camper.  Lull.  Are they reallly gelling it

                                                             We are joined
                                                             at the

                                                            ap as
a                                                                                           vo
                                    wel                  that never ends         Who
                                     there                it

                                    if it   smells  

vowel each other, who? We all hope excuses.  The vowels are orange and puberty is brown and something. Excuses? Puberty. Company, puberty. Company puberty. The fitness chamber? I am not Darth Vader. I owe the fitness




3 Monologues for Teri Garr



I am like life
 covering all scissors in the universe with Silly Putty
the antlered vapors of the heart lycra from x
to y
like a hot lake
pink with flagrant fouls:                                     
             a patented scratch removal kit
             chocolate [luminous  into it ]
             and hairry, according to availability.  It's silly, you know, but if you don't think about it, the cards, searing with consequence or winglike, because I'm here and my high heels, dark with sound, like poking sunspots with dopey  mistletoe (anything can happen, even in accurate patterns)
Should I have cut the lines? Inevitably, as part of the ribbed music
of myself (blurted out of semimechanical joint fissures
seepingly) sharp, perhaps, it should—as the courtesy of severing something
lopsided from its bulbous and invertebrate—what? sure, holed on—intimacy
     or bothering those "people"
  like  planets of
peanut butter co
verde in lipstick
 not knowing its you
caused by too many team players


we are phonics of space

pouncing with poultry hands  [loosely


                        then   with a  can of peas]
and ancillary
They aren't hands although they remind themselves

They aememeemm  
[puts down the
Your eyes are a macaroni and cheese, overexposed, and index for the priority of  
intimacy is a bashed in attitude (shaped like an eardrum) polymers
Neat, isn't it. 
we end up between our synonyms
throwing mayonnaise into the headlights

and your curling eyes, computer-plump and gosh, quitty



[turns and smiles]

my insides are made of whiffle bats and my outsides cotton candy
or my insides are made of dimples and your outsides are fairly easy to
deploy in sunlight, here

flourescent, crowded [freshly]

 refreshments and sparks
by speech
fibrous into
 each other
out of the interior of each
because wherever I go I feel like I'm at an Elks Club
describing lips in an event
barely detectible
than a lot better than being intact [whifflebattily]
for thousands of years
on the lips of the Elks Club
You don't have to know anyone's life in particular
We are one of five thousand points of identification
It is a metaphor.
dry as a bone
with an s on the end

            and originating in punctuation
that I feel like, honey made out of  blankets
, and packets of
invisible desperate powder
or is it the opposite?

            [Use illustration]

Meanwhile, the sweet buns in this buffet line are pinging and
my post-pants being hit by curve balls
from the forked fuzzy dark of the universe
if  by universe you mean Baskin Robbins