The Jolt of Christopher Walken


You painted an execution when you were 11,
living in the insatiable gizzard
where everylip was coincidental
and sharp. In this wide effort
of misfits, a winter machine blooms

from Soho's poppy-flash floor

the cipher of drawn curtains—
flourescent & metronomical—
skins the muzzled glass in
the last scene:

the vivacious young
blonde in the corner grinning
like a juniper shaman.