Nathan Hoks

Why am I a tired can of fizz
Why do I shiver
            and exude mist
            from a tongue-shaped hole
Why am I tripping on sandstone
            carpet — tulips — mulch
Why flick my dead skin
            into the radiator
It’s like the sun tipped over
            the can of oil
on the dusty garage shelf

As they say
            once a metalhead
            always a metalhead
Thy soul is shrink wrapped
peppermint candy flint light dusting
Thy soul is twisted ivory a singing career
the linden the flower and the fruit
Thy soul is that basement window
            you broke when you were 10
and like Mayakovsky
I intend to murder the sun
            with mintgreen thumbtacks