Steam Engines



Laboring in the substructure,

In the Chrysanthemum-bulge

I cornered with the dogs


To show you how to meat-

Hook a canvass. I meant

The best for you, your toad

Appendages, manikin-

Machine of cog and slithering

Wheel, right under the tracks


Lubricated with blood.


Official candors gone to blood,


To machete-will endeavors

On offers of historic landscapes

Made of bricks, made of bones


All the way to the top

Where it's so cold, an alternating

Current of light

                              And revenge.








Pedestal Crimes



Rubber hands will be held under

The pistons so the thudding

Will sound authentic.


The alphabet in white lights

Will be the only illumination

Over the throne.


It should be deafening. Have

Men in authorized netting

Serve cheese.


The service of hands. Have

The point be that no one

Notices.













Jay Snodgrass is the author of two books of poetry, Monster Zero and The Underflower. A pet owner and an unassuming metalhead, he lives in Tallahassee FL with his wife and daughter. His poetic ambition is to put the mental back in to experimental.






                       BACK