the history of everything as seen from one moment

we found pink bogey wax in a clam belly.
it was mixed up with true grit, black blood.
stuffing the well full
of plastic action figures
in my four year old summertime
while the national union perched
on the edge of a grinder
and daddy, who are those men
with Mr. Gorbachev? fending off mutant
lobsters in the kitchen, or ruining the
neighbors lives by destroying their mail. either way
it all amounts to me writing this poem right now.