to 5

    on the 5ives





An anagram.                    Grab the needlenose pliers.

The world is flat in bed.                    She carried everybody, stuck on her like a cartoon.

The butcher offered me a sample of boneless pig to eat right there, or so I thought.                    Her co-workers played along.

Reptiles with hair—he's a legitimate part of her past.                    In the manner of hands with a glove she bathed and disrobed.

A cowboy poet examined his own skin.                    Sliced, squared, memorized, erased.

Turn the cornerstone of portraiture.                    I can't believe you drew all over that Monet.

In the neighborhood of 6K, Jocasta's arms extend.                    (Never wrote back.)



Already we've touched upon passports.                     At half past seven Sign of Water enters.

Endure bureaucratic applause, get my drift.                     Their own antecedents rebuilt the vertical city without names.

She analyzed their handwriting for who went to dog obedience school.                     Limericks flounder and die.

Who else is up with this jet lag?                     Rousseau gave away five or six children.

Instruments delay attention.                     Handling a hat, vintage 30s, manufactured by Champ.

The questionable lab's way on the "other" side of town.                     Near; here.


the present

Whenever he used a word it became unavailable.                     Some of them learn to be responsible by caring for pets.

Odd as a dream, it camped as a movie.                     Meet your double (buddy) at the publicity stunt.

They ducked into the original water-cave.                     No one follows directions anymore.

Loud, authentic ice-making.                     How does a person qualify to become an amateur anthropologist?

It's passé, I mean bananas and bells.                     Struggling vulgarity: which medium.

A crowd comes out of the dozing man's mouth.                     My posse just grazes in the quilt.

Where's a gal to score nutritious Buddha?



three poems

valerie fox