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When Elvis Met Khan
By William Stobb
This was behind the implement, where crates filled with soil and stacked on pallets set loose ticking of broken dirt tumbling from the sky. Elvis tapped his rhinestone boot in constipation, observed cascading particle universe, and imprinted final vision of outbuildings and farm machinery beyond crate towers blocking cartoon fire. A single limb visible from the canyon-bottom like a gesture of dry penetration against galactic blue. Hey! This natural world is seeking to entomb the King! Suddenly, the roar of a rocket pack split the Volunteer sky, and Khan broke into view overhead. In Suit of Many Mirrors, Khan blinded the King with light redirected from cartoon fire. Now only Tiger Suit with recirculating fluids preserved the sperm of Elvis. Khan killed engines and landed prone. “Like… a… cat,” the King is said to have muttered. New dirt rumbled from obsolete crates stacked one thousand stories. Elvis trained his powerful focus toward the center of Halo, where the face of Khan appeared in an advertisement for public libraries. But Khan had not descended to be silenced, and his voice boomed from the loudspeaker wired to a pole, which he had slammed into the earth right before this. A CB trucker amplified for audibility on a moon of Jupiter, Khan’s voice made canal pain in Elvis surpassed only by joy surge as his message came through: “YOU SUPERFLY. SOON LAID.” We celebrate the Bulge of Understanding with laughter roar in King waves. Tiger Mind installed, Elvis leaned back into dirt piled like fine Columbian, while Khan mixed a pitcher of boxcar. Soon drunk, they play ping-pong each night in the Southern Cross.
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William Stobb is the author of five poetry collections, including the National Poetry Series selection, Nervous Systems (Penguin 2007). He works on the editorial staff of Conduit, and co-authored the stage play, Predator: The Musical, which sold out four Chicago runs in 2011 and 2012 and is still available for production.
By William Stobb
This was behind the implement, where crates filled with soil and stacked on pallets set loose ticking of broken dirt tumbling from the sky. Elvis tapped his rhinestone boot in constipation, observed cascading particle universe, and imprinted final vision of outbuildings and farm machinery beyond crate towers blocking cartoon fire. A single limb visible from the canyon-bottom like a gesture of dry penetration against galactic blue. Hey! This natural world is seeking to entomb the King! Suddenly, the roar of a rocket pack split the Volunteer sky, and Khan broke into view overhead. In Suit of Many Mirrors, Khan blinded the King with light redirected from cartoon fire. Now only Tiger Suit with recirculating fluids preserved the sperm of Elvis. Khan killed engines and landed prone. “Like… a… cat,” the King is said to have muttered. New dirt rumbled from obsolete crates stacked one thousand stories. Elvis trained his powerful focus toward the center of Halo, where the face of Khan appeared in an advertisement for public libraries. But Khan had not descended to be silenced, and his voice boomed from the loudspeaker wired to a pole, which he had slammed into the earth right before this. A CB trucker amplified for audibility on a moon of Jupiter, Khan’s voice made canal pain in Elvis surpassed only by joy surge as his message came through: “YOU SUPERFLY. SOON LAID.” We celebrate the Bulge of Understanding with laughter roar in King waves. Tiger Mind installed, Elvis leaned back into dirt piled like fine Columbian, while Khan mixed a pitcher of boxcar. Soon drunk, they play ping-pong each night in the Southern Cross.
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William Stobb is the author of five poetry collections, including the National Poetry Series selection, Nervous Systems (Penguin 2007). He works on the editorial staff of Conduit, and co-authored the stage play, Predator: The Musical, which sold out four Chicago runs in 2011 and 2012 and is still available for production.
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