The Scrumptious Conclusions Lingering

by Thomas Osatchoff


question like crumbs in a fairy tale metro
knowing the intentions of any ball of a city
isn’t easy, especially because there isn’t any
easy good into ride want came. Sean,
right now I want to recall NYC in 1999.
Seeing Blink 182 in the September streets
on a float. Ducking into a glass building,
snubbing us might not have been a desert
heated to hotter than humans can survive
caring about blink
this brutality—not that brutality.

The dog brings the bull back.
Spring brings the lost memory metals.
Balled up. Balled up. Getting tossed
unless we get everything still getting
thrown by the time we need it
we’ve found it crumpled, unfolding
something else. I think
on the compound that’s called catalyst.
Screenprints in others complete.
We’ve completed every challenge
rising up the waterfall to who owns
this island splitting itself to grab us
yes, we want that
—the question is how?
Because of course it matters how we get there.
We can want the tools to do things separate
from the things done but the things are changing
in relation to the tools and language
inextricable. And we are more than things
in meaning’s abyss
picking our way to the next lemon mine.
Your black eyes burning brightly the way
we are more than spikes on the next great

Robin Blaser, the era of my grandfather.
Many other beat down bad practitioners
in the unseen waiting to be emperor.
Mumpsimus with a face like this coin depicting
Sumpsimus meeting in symposiums of letters
busy building invisible yet sumptuous
exoskeletons. Night vision taking in the settings.
Projected star field on the belly of the mind.
That unknown thing in the sky like Christmas lights.
Branded Stallion Orchid and the Sandhill Crane
constellations converging in shades of terbia.
White powder, white powder. Hearing something else
amorphous as non-amor going back to Indo-Unseen
whence also, with differing suffixation
and ablau in the subs where ostriches have beaks
in the have been aquiclude
untransmitted springs, wells abstaining
from that word career, a net messager
invites you to view an expanded selection of works
by not clicking here

in the life cycle in the puddling furnace.
“Resolving host….” Significant events
about to occur. It’s going to happen. Forgetting
to recall an animating auxiliary verb construct, former
supposed endure-all token personality service worker
once upon a design disenabled to address the root’s root
dressin’ itself

in the first, we wanted pink to push through without saying it.
Or just wanted to get big enough to attract amoebas of control.
Trying not to watch this new show, Our Baby Bulimic,
but our one-year-old keeps sticking saliva on fingers deep
into it’s not easy to forgive while asleep. Either of us…still
sleeping in stories of which there are so many ways to read
these shells shading unseen in the fluid’s impressionistic self
down there in the il fait chaud zone looking for something
cold as hard to find in the changing where morphemes continue
patterning away under our poppy ne’er-do-well
induced carrying us tar explanations called carriage
living inside grains of mythic hydrogel
both unreal and actual resolution

between then and any non-ubiety
imagining you’re a VIP fade out
feeding on we recall

birds slamming into the windows. Meadowlark
Lane winged lemons between seasons crossing Atlantic or Pacific
corpus callosum to your cassonade in changing hemispheres
where our dog, Shadow or She-Ra Adora, runs in the fields
behind our house in summer when it’s dry these thoughts go up
obnubilating slightly stretched blackbirds grouped in evergreens
recalling those blue eggs. My eyes are still nests but they’re inflamed
with the rest of me—with the rest of us. Now the birds are windows
watching themselves like chained dogs trying to get another bone.
Or looking at you to see us otherworldly landscapes



Thomas Osatchoff, together with family, is building a self-sustaining home near a waterfall. Recent work has appeared in Arteidolia, The Elevation Review, Otoliths, and elsewhere.