/ / / in which God bludgeons the punchline

---

you pack / / / your smokes / / / fish

a fresh square / / / out, break / / / open 

its factory roll / / / feed / / / the dragonflies tobacco / / / they gets real /

/ / dizzy & his pitbull puppies

make chase before the daddy neck / / / sidle then

snap in the / hot  / white /  lot / / / sun yammers / / / ol yegg

of firecracked / / / crowd slows / / / their trash sedans / / /

hands steady / / / couch on the roof / / / apart meant / / / live on

amphetamines / / / God do

not shutup / / / MY DOGS ARE BARKIN 

MY DOGS ARE BARKIN MY DOGS ARE BARKIN MY

like you don't know red / / / DOGS

cement makes a funny mirror  / / / ARE

like you don't get the joke /   /       / BARKIN /

/

/ /

        /

    /  /

---

Henry Goldkamp performs his small life in New Orleans. Recent work appears or is forthcoming in Yemassee, Bear Review, DIAGRAM, Seneca Review, Denver Quarterly, and Idaho Review, among others. He is the recipient of an Academy of American Poets Prize and serves as a poetry reader for The Adroit Journal and Bayou. More at henrygoldkamp.com.

---