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from Autobiography of Michael Nicoloff



and tell us your feelings


place in an envelope and mail to home


girding yourself in pre-dental society


tray 7 is not out of paper


tray 5 is essentially a billy club


and when my boss just asked someone


"how's your wad today?"


and it's like a giant nap in my cheeks, I said


with awareness of what horrors came next


traveling by sea beast from this time onward


exercise routines and trimming the tree


songs recorded off the radio, all that


what’d I say? I said shit just take me to the death hug


that kind of bummer staving off


a lifetime of passive income


it would’ve been, like, that easy, but no


today I'm across town, thinking


about flags and anthems


clapping that mini cooper


eating a meat sky off in the distance


agriculture might have been a mistake


kind of the all-purpose verb


they huffed in public in a sister city


but when I need the yeti's mobile number


a self-addressed stamped envelope


a pretty important part of my childhood


well, where are they?


uh-huh, cleaning your body with lighter fluid


and an article of clothing called a crumple


saying "to jeff" should be an action verb


and the assistant pharaoh


pulls my hair into really long packets


and I’m not going to request a door prize or anything, but


what I thought was sunlight was a flying insect in clamps


so, you know...


time to “dowse for ore”


“claim the radish”


need some better diagrams


astronaut pee and the great barracuda


keeping out of the nutrient broth


its helmet had a mustache


zip ties for large earthquakes and fires


sand-and-air-filled animal skin pouches


identified by Petco staff as regulars


you need a nervous system


in cat eye goggles


choking citizens in court


the child was identified as the parent


the dream involved a trumpet and writers


an overstuffed car leaving Belfast


water poured on the pick-up artists


feed them after midnight


pretend you shot the ram and serve


the grossest thing you've ever done at work


I would like to read your annual report


wrapped in all the subtle emotions


involved in watching a human


be replaced by a machine in real time


and the irreparability of small tooth chips


but I’ll need someone to remove my neck first


with an easy hand agape at her labors


it affects you in the paw


and the fruit base with cramps


will adorn my rye


some kind of sweet brace


tops my cookie with a little bit of eye


let’s drink tap water


eat the infographic


I don't know how to go about


communing with the snakes and bees


but I have this exercise for jowls


some good opportunities to be jerks to strangers


in on a mule / out on a gurney


meet me at the dumpster


starching the world


I'm starting to question


my knowledge of the alphabet


a bathtub full of extra paychecks


spitting on cold bricks


go get some burlap / see for yourself


book the sheepdogs


hear a turkey gobble


I want standalone wool sleeves


to know the joy of standard liquids


harassed by the interface on the chipping floor


a blue-clawed crab using leaves as currency


with the sudden urge to visit the Dakotas


cuss words printed on a baseball bat


indicating a possible future


where my dragons’ names are Bud and Sandra


functionally a meat locker






Michael Nicoloff

Michael Nicoloff is the author of the chapbooks "Punks", Mixed Grill (Monologue Version), and I Hope You Die, as well as the CD "Punkses" (After Ketjak). With Alli Warren, he wrote Bruised Dick and Eunoia. Formerly a curator of the (New) Reading Series at 21 Grand and Artifact, he presently serves on the board of Small Press Traffic and is an organizer with the Bay Area Public School.


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