Terry Folz

Money does not make
amends.
Bedstead made for trend, unsent.
Cap and kettle.
Broom and yardstick.
A paisley color tie.
And mudstained flannel.
Redhead viral magazine page.
Everything squint-eyed.
Like the red and white check
tiles
at the Five Guys Burgers And Fries.
Design arrest.
Pregame foraged implant.
Bent coffeebooks
lean intrepid.
Crooked gray intransigent.
Milk is gonna go through the roof.
Latent.
Blatant.
Late.
And unsaid.
Chainropes make a splatter-drip canvas.
Snot.
And bloated cancer sacs.
Weekend electric.
Fire sauce.
And the mouth inside
peeled raw.
Dancebeat monotone.
And candy colored streetlight.
Ache-dry molar cold and
bloodless.
I think between the pages.
And walk frozen amid blood infused
days
of sleep.
The tamed and sullen songs of dirigibles
roiled, unthreaded.
Cave-chipped fire brick.
Rushing yards.
Silverspattered ash and a bowl of peanut shells,
half-consequential.
I hack and spit
and read unleavened yesterday's nowhere
newspaper.





Terrence Folz works as a standardized test scorer and has been performing poetry and spoken word in various Twin Cities forums for decades.