MATT HART
Captain America
Your makeover begins
with a new-fangled wallpaper costume event
and ends in a gazebo
of shooting up gazelles. Call it
an orgasm milkshake, and make it
a brain in a honeycomb—a powdery slapstick
of honorable mention. Set up
your plastic military on the battlefield
kitchen counter insurgency platform.
Anti-depressants. Electric pants.
The hinge is a flowerbed, declassified clouds.
And although the armory showing is downwind of meaning,
that doesn’t mean it’s an unrequited love in the eaves.
On the contrary. Swallows and barking their brains out.
Mosquitoes, a critique. Mozambique of many fetes.
Upon your avowal, a table new leaf,
the powder-blue tuxedo of the native Red Skull.
O Sleeper blossom, springing over there.
Into bloom over there. Your astonishment.
Breath in a holding pattern.
In a holding pattern.
Killing an eagle.
