Travis Jeppesen
3 poems
**
Mountain of Yearning
A fine rash establishes itself on my torso. Another yellow morning to get lost in. The day will become the adventure of ants in a cage, burying their way towards oxygen. All they’ll find is a black man’s skull. I don’t want to stay official on that one. Wish our leaders made us docile. But instead, we’re merely allowed.
Leaning toward booger venture. Plastic explosion, the newsman. Ugliest actor still has to find work. Subtle us some more, I love you. Moses deep inside. We shade the raid. He who must kick down the door. A lone rat is your honest answer. We must learn to invent sideways dimension. Smashed E on the walkway, a thin bridge leads us there. No one knows. The truth a bee sting.
**
Farmer's Almanack
Hey old man, give me some love.
Squeal like a pig into the pig void,
a satisfying shadow appears over there.
Clear-minded distillation of facts and fluids,
yellow eyebrows harking backwards oh
the speed of an owl. Until we find ourselves
doting over obscure banalities, how many
gallstones make a wolf howl?
I forgot.
Then again,
the story’s deeper than it seems. For
hamburgers and joyrides, the frosty majesty
bleeds or collides yet to instill within
powderlike manifestations: garlic-infused
pig juice on Saturdays.
Whomever the corpus runs
over, tell him you saw me with Larry
fleeing. I never wanted
to forget you, but I gave in
to substance however meek
the endowment tasted. Caffeine
helps when no one else unloads;
sprayed on to the droplets, the cloud
dislodges its promising harness:
Institutionalized glee.
**
Chronic Wooer
Watch out for the ways in which you’re sat-
isfied the tomato blows you apart may-
be you meant to say ugh the tornado or
naught at all, someone’s calling. Open-warted day,
put yr all away, we’re by nighttime, harder to
see the edges. Manic sensitivity that pleasant
urge, forget to order up the causes. Too many
evidence rays transmogrify your paradox, puke parade
puke parade, choke through your Asian filter
tender raven I will blackenize your rainbow.
Mind got blown too hard to throw, already
dig things, water. Make the ink disappear into
lightness, I’m buzzing. Look at the art.
How is it make you feeling. I walked into
you black beauty’s catful seal the waxed dis-
ease. You cucumber. March store. Poltergeist
mechanics write the laws of relevant
becoming. Formations dovetail into paranoid
ruleless. Blasters go sailing.
**
return to Sawbuck 1.7
**
Travis Jeppesen is the author of Victims, Wolf at the Door, and Poems I Wrote While Watching TV. He currently lives in Berlin, Germany.
**
Mountain of Yearning
A fine rash establishes itself on my torso. Another yellow morning to get lost in. The day will become the adventure of ants in a cage, burying their way towards oxygen. All they’ll find is a black man’s skull. I don’t want to stay official on that one. Wish our leaders made us docile. But instead, we’re merely allowed.
Leaning toward booger venture. Plastic explosion, the newsman. Ugliest actor still has to find work. Subtle us some more, I love you. Moses deep inside. We shade the raid. He who must kick down the door. A lone rat is your honest answer. We must learn to invent sideways dimension. Smashed E on the walkway, a thin bridge leads us there. No one knows. The truth a bee sting.
**
Farmer's Almanack
Hey old man, give me some love.
Squeal like a pig into the pig void,
a satisfying shadow appears over there.
Clear-minded distillation of facts and fluids,
yellow eyebrows harking backwards oh
the speed of an owl. Until we find ourselves
doting over obscure banalities, how many
gallstones make a wolf howl?
I forgot.
Then again,
the story’s deeper than it seems. For
hamburgers and joyrides, the frosty majesty
bleeds or collides yet to instill within
powderlike manifestations: garlic-infused
pig juice on Saturdays.
Whomever the corpus runs
over, tell him you saw me with Larry
fleeing. I never wanted
to forget you, but I gave in
to substance however meek
the endowment tasted. Caffeine
helps when no one else unloads;
sprayed on to the droplets, the cloud
dislodges its promising harness:
Institutionalized glee.
**
Chronic Wooer
Watch out for the ways in which you’re sat-
isfied the tomato blows you apart may-
be you meant to say ugh the tornado or
naught at all, someone’s calling. Open-warted day,
put yr all away, we’re by nighttime, harder to
see the edges. Manic sensitivity that pleasant
urge, forget to order up the causes. Too many
evidence rays transmogrify your paradox, puke parade
puke parade, choke through your Asian filter
tender raven I will blackenize your rainbow.
Mind got blown too hard to throw, already
dig things, water. Make the ink disappear into
lightness, I’m buzzing. Look at the art.
How is it make you feeling. I walked into
you black beauty’s catful seal the waxed dis-
ease. You cucumber. March store. Poltergeist
mechanics write the laws of relevant
becoming. Formations dovetail into paranoid
ruleless. Blasters go sailing.
**
return to Sawbuck 1.7
**
Travis Jeppesen is the author of Victims, Wolf at the Door, and Poems I Wrote While Watching TV. He currently lives in Berlin, Germany.
