Tyler Carter






The frog made a squishing sound in my hand the sky opened up like a head of lettuce.

Like Stephen Hawking sorrow expanding like a rower's meticulous form.

The machine in a trance its metal arm swings.

The sounds of a shovel and now the work man and now the work man.


I wake up at eight I shoot the machine gun.

I electrocute the bumblebee.

Like a magnet like concrete the man's eyes were rotten two holes like a plug.

Like the meticulous design of a park a trash can.


Because of a peculiarity in spirit we might think about where we are.

I flick an insect off the bed.

Not like a bonnet pushed back a horde of neck and hands.

Like a true story a cow's eye.


I found my body pensive and motionless.

I found a hole in my sock I found a foot stool.

If I disappeared today tomorrow would you carry a picture of someone not here anymore?

Would you carry a Styrofoam cup to a trash can?



When I Was in Love with Nothing in Particular


What are the Pistons thinking?

The Pistons have lost their identity.

Walt Whitman found god in a barley corn.

She loved the sea.



The interviewer laughed and asked him to talk more.

"I can't find the enemy," he said.

"Is it alive?"


"Can I hold it?"

A Gorilla's hand.

A beautiful woman holds a can of beer.

I am what is around me.


Why are you crying?

"I reckon a feller needs a change of pace."

Even the snow plow gets cold.

We sat together.