I need Legal to play along.
The pipeline is being weird:

First it said hold me,
Then it went around to every

Broken wing and asked for the usual.
Are we some function of the dig.

*

I want my grief to be legible.
A break from the arranged grass stain.

The template for prayer hasn't changed.
Mothers will be flowers.

Trujillo Ampersand—
The president has an odd way of thanking us.

*

I'm the naked man walking in circles underneath your tongue——
As close as you're going to get to charitable road metal.

You deserve all the confetti.
At cost.

I'm receptive to your camouflage.
But can you haunt me from a different angle.

*

Tequila shouldn't fall under "big gaps" in the market.
How can musicality have such a good name

And yet so many refuse to apply its laws?
Also, can performativity beat the rush?

There's no tangible way to Do Normandy.
Apparently there are spaces between bodies?

*

There's caffeine in the St. Lawrence.
Spending is marionette.

Difference between fourteen page and sixteen page
Shredder should not be underestimated.

The expectation to fool around with tempera.
How temporal is Gello's vaginal canal?

*

What church do you be.
(Yes, I am going to be a bitch about infrastructure.)

Give me that kind
Of ammunition, ammeter.

You know me, I'm in the Andes.
Put me in front of a dialectic and I'm happy.

*

You can square away my financials any time:
Open Tunings.

Maybe at a lower altitude I'll start dreaming again?
You know what I mean by dreaming.

That year was the worst week of my life.
I still don't know how to spell any of my friends' names.

About the Poet

Thibault Raoult (MFA, Brown) lives in Athens, Georgia, where he studies in UGA's English and Creative Writing PhD program. Selections from Communist Couplets have recently been published in a chapbook by Projective Industries. Other works include I'll Say I'm Only Visiting, El P.E. [physical education of the elevated train], and Person Hour.