POETRY FROM THE POETRY CHAINS OF DOMINIC LUXFORD (a.k.a. Randomly-Selected Lines from McSweeney's Issue 22 Book Turned Into New Poems)

POEM

Page,
it looked so much like the real thing.
The Moon,
dark, hair growing back down there.

Expression: 'hell hounds on my trail',
almost filled our bed,
made of anything, except me
on the sea.



CHANT

Couples spoke little,
small. It's like
hypnagogic trances of language,
my large magnetic car
after people, those poets wholly
now in these ones we have.
Two loaves of bread, white hands
see a domino going down.


DOMINIC LUXFORD

Despise
One
Made
In
Notorious,
In
Chosen.

Lucky
Unstable
X
Fact
Of
Real
Despising.