Ronald Palmer

Signature Mutation

Purgatorial skin to skin 
Bow in: one hundred naked men 
Heads drifting on top of black water 

The rest of the bodies disappear below Steamboat Springs sulphur baths
	    snowflakes tingle our scalps 
	    hot limbs shift and drafts 
Where Orion burns ten sullen paths 
Of light flying kite-like, staring down at us: half awestruck, half awe-shucks—

	    Drifter, Ex-hustler, high-class-callboy Paul once said 
	    everyone should be owned
	    into the cloned darkness ego/numbed.
	    I have been a pig in every major city in the world
	    and I have never felt guilty

The performance of identity: 
	    You can watch it like theatre. Sash/tray: 
	    Lobbing Molotov cocktails at the city.
	    The aspens collect snow and look pretty. 
	    At night the tractors manicure the mountain.
The mountain range is snow-dusted jagged curvature from the airplane window 
	    glint-sheet sided mountain brighter than white internal fireglow
	    agitating my perspective: their married friend Ben just became Gay:

	    I have never been friends
with the mediocre. Dear ego/son
	    I've been friendly.

My mother, she had every tightwad tidewater aristocrat with that inbred tremor
	    Trying to get her and she chose the son of a coalminer. 
	    Yeah, she fell for him it didn't hurt that he was gorgeous.
	    Writers don't want to be happy they want to be scolded. Be able
To say: Yes I respect the god within you: he'd leave me a thousand on the breakfast table

	    for weekend cocaine: 		Black Jack: Craps. Wheel and Poker.
That's a great symbol of respect. Control Freak Gays with one quote-frantic-joker. 

Akk Akk Akk Akk
That was very Brokeback. 

In the 80s all the most beautiful boys
	    were dying first…
	    somebody told me it was because 
	    they had the most sex.

	    Atticus Finch, now that's class.
Open Range on the highway home: 
	    Halfman: halfhorse: now we're inside the ochre ass 
Of the continental divide where three horses pose (one red/ one brown/ one white)

For the highway hums with tourists ski and snowboard racks 
	    As standing protest in the absurd Colorado theatre with their manes 
Flag-like flapping in perfectly staggered silence. 

Just thinking together standing like band members. The future is a circling star kite 
looking all horror-faced down on us 
	    in the shivering aftershocks  
	    when Hybrid humans gain the might 

Of an [artellect vs. intellect] edge 
	    Let us pray. 
	    All myths (including Medusa's wig of snakes) come true
	    as cryogenic robots learn emotional intelligence, until the last few
	    hybrids hunt down and kill the dinosaurs again.

Dominion of trance: I am swimming through mourning's curse
	    on the facile body's choice to charm
	    the cranium's swarm.
	    In the hospital a woman harangues her mother hunched and cruelty soaked 
	    in her wheel chair 
	    her daughter's Russian voice echoing through the hollow elevator shaft
All the way down to parking lot A. 

 The virus studies the host. OK. Do I retreat into unthinking mindscape: 
Colour-blocked into joy? A tool
	    Of the master: Let's get the well-hung peasant into the gene pool.
Is it Nietzsche? The world is unfolding as it should? Only a fool

Translates snow piled knee deep in the dream yard as surprising 
	    the skin alive.
	    I am naked 
	    in the snow bleeding bloodlike stout
from a slit hoof. Micro-pulse of the pupils. I am seek: sought: survive: Bow out.

Rover-Rover Let Ronald Come Over

A feminine flight a gift hypnotic. Hail's warning is appetite.

Clandestine clover: God can only speak to so many people at once.
God spoke to me and I promised to pounce

On any queer ass that brake the code—-
	    I'll have my peaches alamode 

With lemon lime 
and a tangy turpentine.  

God chose a funereal fugue, cryptogenic dude,
I refused to never trust; you must learn to speak loud enough without being rude.

Dear Sylvia: Skin like let/us be plural possessive without the apostrophe 
Symbiotic groove tangled weather makes a catastrophe

Wherever you, dear Sylvia, strove.  I'm living the life of a NeoCon
Doctors look at my name tag and then call me Ron.

My company car smells like cardboard and ashes.

I'm too quick and too stable—-
One ounce primal 

Two ounces debt-free and almost always cashless

but the rest of my story is torture-fit to truth 
like a soldering of the mind featuring this incandescent proof.

I should have known I'd marry an addict. 
Tisk Tisk Tisk: 
I'm too tired to take another risk
	    Sip sham/pain in a fairy static.
	    A feminine flight a gift hypnotic. 

	    Sticky-rich sluts descend upon us:
	    I can see why people want to bomb us.
	    Trust thy self and trust thy Cable.
	    I can see why people
	    Want to bomb us. I promise please promise:
	    That you'll never really bomb us.
	    Hail's warning is appetite. Bait
	    With a Jdam at a 95% accuracy rate.

I'll gladly pay you doomsday
For a president today.

O sugar lets tamper this test into daring.
God chose a wedding fugue perpetually glaring— 

We're off to tear our own label. The room began to rumble
	    With chatter like a wave of hunger
The room was speaking in tongues.
And like I said God can only speak to one person once. 

Ronald Palmer is the author of Logicalogics (Soft Skull / Counterpoint). A graduate of NYU's creative writing Master's program, he received his Ph.D. in English from Binghamton University. After living in NYC and teaching at The New School, he now lives in San Francisco with his boyfriend Kevin Rolston with whom he co-wrote Crystal Christian (a play that will premiere in 2009).