Poem for July 11

Phil Spector’s Unicode

Because someday we should all aspire to give humans as gifts.

In the balcony, the sticky rails:
all moss, gloss, and gutted flamingoes.
Buckwheat seed-stuffed doves hung by
stethoscopes — a parade under the confetti
of pushpins and lint, crawl across another
symphony.

Wilkes Booth may have been the savior, who knows?
Put the “B” of “Booth” back in “B” movie.
Foyers need not apply for the position.

According to the pure driven snow,
every unicorn streams a rainbow behind,
kneads equivocal,
Esperanto pies. In Moscow, you know,
a burning serum penetrates The Earth.

A brazen lark with torn soles,
unable to transmute,
more rugged ravens in the balcony.

There is no uniform           for a heart-shaped gun.

-Lina ramona Vitkauskas, from The Range of Your Amazing Nothing (Ravenna Press, 2010)