it wasn't any willful wash
but it did seem swollen
as i licked the flair died down
over hong kong bay
in hamlet's FIE
all the worldliness of tiny disasters
stepping in like saturn
to the goldmine
the cherub mine
as if in some quag of clocks
and coals and cold cinders mudding
bright yellow babies sighed out
from under the double chins
of dead lame royalty
foreskins are happy hiding
under bright colors
clitoris as little red riding hood
a bird far off
away from the kingship and qeenbarge
of our quotidian genitales
IS LANDS
OZ LANDS
the hovering capochinga
where the turbans of milk
slosh with frail six-fingered monkeys
coccooned in sugar coral
dabloons of opium smouldering
in their I sockets
the screwdriver crew
is wed
we wed
on on a dusky road
chattering excitedly
into an alarmed mass of joints
scalps and dithering pronouncements
this corn
we tossed
to well-packed earth
now pecked up and gone
little machine birds we favor
little birds we machine
little seeds we take black into
our openings
sub tusks
turn and curl away from the light
rolling
pillar helix tuskrows
combine
chaff of eunoia
paratactic to
the fine gratings
of terrible rhythms
beat out by single human lives
against the leather pandora sump house
"what i didn't get"
or into that humorless vortext
naked except for a big pink rubber band
this hand flames
these gills flash diamond spider chassis
assembling into sensetenses
subsad
the carapace where i cling
dumb in the rampart gushing ivory scowl of years
head wrinkled over in grey heavy clover
lead elephant ear tuxedo cross sewn into my irony orifice
the knotted cross of antechrist
as in
sweet old ladies selling dirt cookies
heads like dry thistles under spittled wool
rubber stomach house where they laid me
swaddling in a mulch of dictionaries and coffee grounds
sloth with halo
puckers his pink throbbing asshole
and produces a green pearl
hold it up to the light
to see the little tadpole foetus plants
polyp horns walking the tango cake turnpike upside
drown
all these chaoral apostomies
impugning the touch of serious saints
we all in flesh
absord the surd
blordlings bladderi
with fever trinkets
glossopell
mello to the skin trading sacrifice machine
the bombed out or
lenient victim
we somehow floated up
into a hollow whale
lay silent in the stone hair pews
listening to the singing
the dull black car
now a mush of wasted groceries
light is alien
and is an eye and centipede
exploding in the mouth
i sneak a kiss
to "mother"
the fire weeping
from purple anemone
how can the tongue
tell a respect
when the world's rude
mouth is ever gobbling
i will try to help
but all i am is soggy bread
left by an open window
as if these two accidental eyes
were the weeping fang holes
in cleopatra's breast
of marquetry
