Select All in Flow

Airbrushed catalogue model, imaged in black pixels,
flies to Arizona from the coast, her splayed pattern
gaping exit wounds through which a crow could fly.

[Arizona’s where the alphanumeric information]
is construed, input and returned to said machine.
Licking an envelope, or batting an eyelash in a windstorm.
a woman in lingerie swells with acupuncture points--
O fudged Noguchi autopsy. Black isn’t color of my true love,
only being where the holes meet, front to back.

Granny’s catalogue lost, she didn’t want the items.
As the pages pass through the postal belt,
shiny form tears from its content. The OCR
[form that shines tears away from content. The OCR]
could not recognize the address (the video screen
displays someone’s autopsy darned with needle-point).
But the person keys her interpretation of the number
bounced to the sorting machine, when the catalogue,
tears and all, drops in the mail tub, labeled correctly.

But to residents of our address in question,
All mail is bad news, and no mail is certain,
re-affirming countless ties, invisible dog-leashes.
Toilet arm-rests, dahlia-patterned shower-curtains,
the TV tray, the recliner, the pillow for posture,

and ultrasonic denture cleaner fitting a hand bag,
say marked for death: you bought that? Why
do you think they sell that stuff at cut-rate prices?
Just wait and try to get replacement parts.