Neronis Cellphonis Miamis Noseringu [el día tres]

http://www.trumpmiami.com

cellphones dream,
they dream of electric amoeba sheep
with vibrating phosphorous
external wing lung flippers
which are ring-tone engines
for the mermanity
that is the peccadillo
of the sea

man, woman
is the hot
nasty cellphone dream
of the ocean

miami
becomes the oracle
the oracular condominium
to the tiny miraculating baby
"o wought an art ist you hod in mi"

Tom Thumb's oceanside hotties
are sirens in the morning
with air like

angel eggs

Nero's Cellphone is ringing.
Still asleep, the ringtones
enter his brainspot by a precarious
intercalespic fitness center
whose starbucks of dark roomservice
gentlemen also become oracular

Neronis Amoebis Cellphonio
speaks his first somniloquy
in the not yet dawn
of ocean in which each square
micrometer is packed with telquellurating
hotties:

Galba Toast..
Musak con leche is imported,
I am for the Seattle Cubans,
O Trilobitterns, O giguestivo,
Neroaracle never worry,
hotties on galba toast

The old man with the hotty
was in fact GALBA!

//

Miami is cool.
The book fair is just beginning
to teem. Writer amoeba
teem to the hush and thruttle
of fetish paper.

//

Queen Nefertiti's mother
has been reborn
as Nero's maid.
Her thickly woven brocade wig
is a sybelline symbol
of the world cellphone
fitness center.

//

Baby Nero dreams of
golden amoeba hotties
in levitating hottub earcanals
Chilean hotty earcanals
Cubano hotty earcanals
Brazilian booty canal noserings
with asian flickering latte's
and croissant eartonewiglets

//

Baby Amoebis Neronis
is drugged, has been drugged
by his lover, Trumpetina Allamanate',
so he continues to somniloquy,
thinking back to his training
in the womb of formless hotelery:

//

Somniloquy continuou:

Neronis Amoebis Cellphonis:

In a remote corner of the miasmaverse
flickering, and twittering with countless
burning spheroids, there was once
a cellphone sponge hotel where
clever hotties and amoebas
invented the cellphone.

It was the proudest, deceitful,
and most badass moment in the history
of the miasmaverse, maybe, but
it was only a moment.

After old hotty Gorgonianeptuneless naturam
had taken a few breaths, the burning spheroid
froze, and the clever Atlantean amoebahotty
jellybeans had

to die.

//

NOOOO! Noooo!

cried cellphone nosering Neroni
bursting out of his tesselating coccoon
of mermaid hotty cellphone caffeine
delivery gel pack night insulation

and back into
the planned parenthood
of flipbook data organization cartels
and anonymous airport like

conceptual framing aids
embedded into the syntaxidromos.

//

Oddyssey
whispered Neronimoeb

Oddly wise sea.

Y.

Particle
of a configurable
signal path.

Symbol
of the decision matrix.

Mother,
of all oracles,
all oracular cellphone service
between Brazil, Cuba,
and the Miami Book Fair.

//

Eggs.
Bacons.
Croissant.

Starbucks coffee,
served by Donald Trump
aka Zeus Mafia Hotty Bling Daddy Googy baby.

//

The truth is
Neronis
while technically an Emperor amoeba
is really just a boy toy
in the Party Mama syndicate
whose representative
he serves.

Neronis Amoebis Cellphonis
is the liquagel love slave
of Resource Engineeresse
Trumpetina Allamanate'

a global cellphone manager
and hetfemme of

D.E.S.K.

amalgamated

Deep
Energy
Stuff and
Khaos.

//

Wink
Wink
little wiglet
thou art fruitfull
thou art toll free
miami booty call

from

Trump
to Rump

from
Beamer
to Bentley

//

A lone cell
drifts through the miamsa
boo kifar

where
is the new satyrifon?

where is the manifold
server request?

Soo wee Ringtonius..
Soo la Wee.

Go powder your dong
in the ground up bodies
of a hundred million trillion
sea creatures.

The day is old, young,
and knowledge

is a campfire
in a dark forbidding
wood

with decent
cellphone service
for hot-piped apps.

//

"Melba, Is that you?"


////

day three dispatch endet

Baby Nero Amoeba Reporting From Trump International Miami

http://www.trumpmiami.com/

The bathroom wallpaper
is faux-enamel crazing,
and cracking

Empty wine glass.
simple drops of
Pinot Grigio
from Veneto

a green Heineken
bottle

///////////////
morning
//////////////

Nero
was a baby amoeba
and he was born
one morning to
Donald Trump
in Miami

//

Baby Neromoeba
in the early morning
of his life took supp
and broke fast
at Neomi's grille
with eggs and bacons from
large continental buffet
attended by black men
in tall white tube hats
and also gay frenchman
and latino hotty

//

Emperor Trump
had given birth
to the baby amoeba
inside of a miraculating
image
with a slightly
Columbian accent
having a Cuban cigar

//

Romans
in ancient Columbia
trade for Seminole hotties
with fruit baskets from room service
only to be surprised
in their sleep
wit aging oppossum wiglets
with Cuban cigars

//

Coffee is important
to a baby amoeba
like Nero

Even Emperor Trump
and Emperor Obama
must take
the brown
Columbian bean

and Cuban cigar

//

Nero can barely
belee his eyes

Old men in Florida
take mega-bulbous
young hotties
to breakfast

[Sometimes a cigar
is an amoeba penis]

One man, though
let's call him Obesion
took 6 sausages
from the buffet

//

Today is the first day
in Baby Nero's
amoeba life of Florida
in the towering
propungnacula
of Emperor Trump
who is like,
called 'Yodad'

//

Time to slither
down the the beach
to look for

seashell
cellphones

washed in from
mighty Atlantean
grotto

//

Two black attendants
wave hello

//

a Latino

//

an aging hotty
doing homeless beach yoga

//

An amoeba with a leprachaun
in his ear

//

Two aboeba
on the beach

speedo males

//

An amoeba
likes sand in its toes

Even the Norwegians
make a decent Roman sandal

//

The baby Nero pauses,
then looks through eye-spot

North beach Miami
he calls Miasma

up and down North Miasma beach
the eyespot looks

up and down
up and down
and finally settles
for the faqt

that a baby Emperor Amoeba
is sitting on blue nylon deck chair
between massive redundant hi-rises
in beach

and that
hi-rise tooth tusks
in a jutting jaw
are the very jawbone
of an Emperor Bull-Amoeba Boar,
a kind of mammoth peccary

of Emperor Amoeba peccadillos

//

porno star amoebas
arrive Trump International
Resort Hotel

from a white marble yacht
that looks like Roman sandal

//

Palm Tree

Sea Gull

..

//

Another amoeba
walking down the beach

Then two

A subcontinent Indian lady amoeba
with droopy jowls
and a stooped crooked back
is walking here

Another Emperor Ameoba
is walking

Its jaw was jutting big
like success symbol

But baby Nero amoeba
does a double take

The Emperor is sad

That really is
a prognathous jutting jaw
thing owned by that
poor amoeba

poor Empeor Anoeba Plastard

//

Plover


Seagull





dried seaweed

//

Baby Nero Amoeba brain spot:

thoughts of more coffee
taking dumps

hotties

//

Baby Nero Amoeba brain spot:

the world is very futuristic

amoebas flow through
cellphone sponge hotels
like blood

like a blood
made of jellyfish
software authoring modules

My namewa is
Babu, I'm maybe Nero,
I am a mindless heard,
a herd of mindles,
I'm hearing no mind,
but a brain spot

I don't mind having
a brain spot

In the disaster of my mind
there is a sort of elite public
private mindless herd of communal
privacy or mindful amoeba packet
energies that I am repressing

I am a mindless Emperor Amoeba
Surprise!

The Amoeba has no mind
in his Ralph Lauren clothes
today!


Also look

"FRIED EGG SUNGLASSES!"

And amoeba's face is ugly
unless
it is sitting
in a Roman throne sandal.

Mostly Nero
has ugly teeth.

End of scandalous brain spot
problem. A baby amoeba laughs
at all the earth,
because an amoeba-giblet's life
is part of a criminal digestion
ring called Y.U.M.

//

Here is classic motto:

Mafia Doolittle
The Sky Amoeba is falling.
Tune into Radio HOMEOSTATICI!

//

Here is the Thales quote insertion:

ALL THINGS ARE FULL OF GODS.

at which BNA giggles.

All things are full of amoeba-boo.

//



driftwood eternities
whale heads lifted in song

military amoeba gunships
go everywhere
with toxic beeps



//

cloud amoebas
chafe the
prison barges

furniture
is still
our slave
at least

//

a proud fat
speedo amoeba
disgorges
a cellphone in a bikini
from its head

//

a palm tree can commend
the sun unto thee, O
Emperors of Trumpdom,
o literates who
are partially caffeinated
protein constructions
of incredible complexity

//

BABY
NERO
AMOEBA.

Stomach:
coffee
bacon
eggs
pineapple
blueberry
canteloupes
yoghurt
croissant
icing croissant
bacon
coffee
coffee

//

BABY
NERO
AMOEBA.

eyes:

pale
jade
green
ocean
through
rayban
wayfarers

through eye spot
also

some amoeba dicks
in speedos

//

The texture of the ocean's surface
is a marvel.

1000 mph or meters per second
is how fast
a cellphone moves

thru

EARTH
ELECTRONIC
SEASHELL

//



Emperor Trump
combover.

//




End of 1st Daily Report.

The Elucidating Poem of Our Time

I'm sorry, too, about
how it had to become
the story of OUR cult
of personality, and the
way that Cadmium must
direct the red road,
reading the gelatin was
of donkey skin and musk.

I'm sorry about.
All of this.

This is just like that
story about how Tien-Lcheu
would sneak back into the house
after smoking, house-pants,
house-pants-naked, only, to find
a tiny turtle on his pillow,
then enter into a reverie in which
he imagined things like
shadow mantas flowing vertically,
flowing diagonally, and living
on the inner surface of a
vast smooth cavern of glass,
a wide lotus forehead
would look tiny upon
the history of pine,
and pining.

"African wild ass skeletons
exhibit a range of osteopathologies
consistent with load carrying."

"Completely anonymous specimens
reveal heretofore unknown aspects
crucial to various forms of
understanding the history
of the donkey."

This was the kind of sentence
the young man would find just
hanging around the old woman's
mezzanine, where, on the walls,
a multitude of Japanese fans
she claimed she painted herself,
and old lace, bronzes, and plaster
casts of the old lady, from
bygone days.

Often, she would sing, and
what an odd, dissonant thing
it was, like Minerva punishing
Arachne.

But what she would never admit,
was that our intentions, are
intrinsically intentional, but
our utterances, writings and
pictures, are physical phenomenon,

like famished teeth
dragging the smoke
to a bald glade:

a definition of farce.

The Winter slowly begins
in more old gooey quotes.

"If the pipe is as good,
as it is long, it will be
the Phoenix of pipes;
I'm going to try to learn
to smoke it."

Jogwheel Skyskull

Rezent Skretch

Abstract Asemipoemics Animation Series

How to Reinstate A New Paoxiao...

To Ezra Pound's better nature,
or darker self, whichever we cannot see,
though we must indefinitely prsve
the corpse tied up in a cave, and to
recognize that cave as the Taotie
itself, and contrariwise, us, with
our eyes in our arms' spit.

The gorilla charges
in its bikini made of straw-hats
and atolls, the barbershop quartet
made a left turn
into a bottle of black hole brand
astrophysica

the cap
the capo
and the capescium
the final lines
of the De Rerum

The Reruns
of the documentary called
"The Aquarian Conspiracy"
"which I always make fun of" w/

The Aquarium Conspiracy
whose nature is constantly

uinfelding

like Vulcan
limping from the Anfeeld
in the place called

'to weld'

vine-welding, like infolding
and unfolding made sing to
singularity

the single knot
with three lobes
and no ends.

The BBC created a show once called:

Grapevine: The Self-Help Show.

Stress producing unseemly acts.

Spatial deformations bringing on
deformations of the will.

Anti-Determinist Set:
[Acts, Axe, Labrys, Labors, Arbor, Arsborg, Grope, Seize,
Seizure, Sieve, Computation, Bifurcation, Amalgamation,
alloy, ally]

Meaning's ocean, our ocean
where the silent light moves
through metamorphic clouds
giving suddenly uinto voice:

They that haue the voyce of Lyons,
and the act of Hares: are they not

Monsters? [Perseus, Peristalsis]

Air, or Error,
Fu, or fool?

The Minister of Erfu.
The Minister of Erfu is named Wei.
The Minister Erfu is recorded as being
both a corpse, and a god whose body is that
of a snake's, but whose head is human.

You cannot dispute me easily,
for I have consulted with the
Guideways Through Mountains and Seas,
and with all of the 'fourberies'
known to the ancient and modern

trockstir:

1364 Vintner's Co. Charter in Pat. Roll 38
Edw. III, m. 44 (P.R.O.)

Si mettent pris sur les vins
par Truke ou par eschaunges.


uinfeld...
one field.
wan fold.

in lofty gnawings, to
woo the way..

[Our Persian Restaurant
has a special today on lamb.]


today only.

A Comment on Critique and Pedagogy and Stuff.

I cannot remember the quote, if it is a quote at all, but a digestion of a series of quotes, and that's funny, or odd, the word 'series', appearing right here in the beginning, before I've even set up the 'ministry', so to speak. In American culture, I am almost ashamed to even bring up Deleuze and Guattari anymore, but there is something positively uncanny about the way they often catch resonances between light and psyche, or mind and optics, or perhaps, put better, to make available the possibility of a physics of elucidation, and one which isn't simply the piled up charms of the literary person's elucubrationary dissimulation.

The ministry.

Let me just say plainly, that I think it's a fairly good idea to stay firmly rooted in the material world, and if that sounds ridiculous, as it does to me, let me say, that knowledge of the material world does not always account for "eventu-alities that arise in the index", or rather, "virtualities that coalesce due to memory and arrangements within the fabric of factors which comprise the contents of thought at any given moment." Those quotes are my own, and they reflect not exactly a close reading of literature, per se, but a close reading of experience itself as comprised of "objects" in a software sense. D&G, and I've sold all their books, in one of the books give a short discussion, or maybe a long discussion of "Series", and this leads into things like deterritorializations, and hybridities, but what it makes me think of is, thought figured like photonic trigonometry, a space where objects, more or less autonomous, however that works, or perhaps the 'objects' can be called threads or processes, bump into each other and are both affected and changed. And that sort of general bottom level process being like a single tile in a more overall under-standing we might call a hologram. But these are positive and reasoned aspects of the process. How do we account for the more traditional and irrational mechanism of this process. One word for it is PARANOIA. I wrote it in scare capitals because that is the way it happens often, the eyebrows go up, the thing in your head that wasn't happening until the thing in the landscape happened, and both are now happening in a way that doesn't seem quite possible. Or is there something metaphysical at work? This too, makes me recall a quote, perhaps from a letter or work I never read, and this quote is supposedly something Benjamin said to Scholem, or vice versa, and just the other day, and this is exactly how I work, because I allow for the landscape to speak, landscape as in, say, a room, I pick up a book at random, and open it, and let my eyes fall down on some word, and just the other day, I let it fall on the word

monopsychism.



Sure, nothing new, but when I was a teenager, the idea of a single conscious hologram that was the universe was all the rave in my mind, and I searched constantly for ways to prove it. It wasn't that I was religious, I was mystical. I felt I knew I was right about things, and often I was, and could usually prove it, and they way I thought back then is still the way I think today, something I call

labored obliquity

I pick out some unordained element in the landscape of human thought, and I 'highlight' it, and then remember the fragments that come through the sieve that happen to get marked with that tag. Take for instance what I just did: I went and plucked 3 volumes off my shelves at random not really thinking about them or what they might contain when opened randomly. I read John Latta's blog entry this morning and was thinking about it when I plucked _The Golem_ by Gustav Meyrink off the shelf and began to read the biopic of GM, which I will return to. I plucked _A Theory of Natural Philosophy_ by Roger Joseph Boscovich which is something I barely remembered I had, and it turns out to be the Venetian edition of 1763. I've been reading about 18th century Venice for almost a year now, off and on. And I also plucked _Dionysus, Myth and Cult_ by Walter F. Otto, which when I opened it up was mandibulating upon the Dionysian animal par excellence, the panther, which also figured prominently in the poem I wrote first thing out of bed this morning, even before coffee! That isn't usual for me.

To return to Gustav Meyrink and John Latta's discussion this morning of the Grand Piano project, I was struck by the odd crypto-resonance between Meyrink's biography and the thematics involved in something like Latta's post, which in the end, tend to lead me to a rather familiar subject, "the materiality of immateriality", but also to series (hint:Ceres), and their interruption or deflection, as in light.

Let me cut to the chase as this is seeming rather dull and square:

In E.F. Bleiler's short biography of the different people who were Meyer (Meyerink) he recounts an experience in the young writer's life, where just as he was about to pull the trigger on a gun pointed to his own head, a book slid under the door of his flat, and strangely, it was a book on the Occult. Now what's odd, is that Meyrink did become a participant in the Occult and knew some father famous folk, but he was also a debunker, and would do things like snip off a piece of ectoplasm and take it to a chemist. Meyerink was also a banker, until he was blamed for some bit of misdeed and sent off to prison. He was, in a Grand Piano sense, in business as a banker with the nephew of Christian Morgenstern. Meyerink was also a wild-hearted playboy:

"There was also, Gustav Meyer, the aggressive playboy and bohemian, who delighted in using his sharp, sarcastic tongue to annoy the stodgy German patricians of Prague, and wasted no chance to shock them. He was athletic, and won many prizes as a sculler, including the championship of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. He was a skilled fencer, a riotous liver (see previous poem for "liver") who rode about in

balloon decorated carriages with troops of chorus girls

and he affronted the horses by driving the first automobile in Prague. Like his counterparts in England he lived in eccentric surroundings, in a tower in a older part of the city, where his strangely decorated room contained a confessional booth, a terrarium filled with exotic African mice, a large picture of Madame Blavatsky, and a sculpture of a ghost disappearing into a wall."

And now, I am just so enamored by the weirdness of the world, that whatever feeble criticism I once had or migh have had, is just gone. Let us all be victims in the finality of the poem. I have nothing to say, except perhaps, do you have that

poem by Euphorion,
that poem of Dionysus on Samos
who received his shrine there because
of the gratitude of a lion.

A god
still needs the blessings
of the local animals.

"The limit points of cohesion are
strong or weak according to the form
of the curve near the point of intersection."
p. 74 RJB's A THEORY~

"raging jelly bean"



In later years, Meyerink was said to be an old fool
who couldn't remember where he'd [laid] his shirt [down],
and had lost his ass in banking, and more pointedly, in general...

Fragmentary Painting Of Half-Remembered Nonsense

mechanism turgid apple,
half remembered name of poem
as apple Eden mechanism,
half-remembered nights
of silver Peruvian jaguar
miners

the jaguar mines
are immense crayfish-like heads
which rise up from the jungle
covered in apples
lithe throaty folds of silver
neck face vagina flexing fang rows
where miner's lights descend
through apple shrimp jungle

Eden.

and pulling the jaguars
from their silver sacks
the coca corpses sing

wild ancient neck wound apple
which rises up
through half-remembered names

mushy cat head
we find silver shrimp
inside
the miner
like a crust
in its neck hole

Eden.

The face
has a heavy brown
toenail mask

like a silver jaguar
frozen in apples

an immense coca crayfish
hangs in the mist above the jungle

a puma of apples
struggling to exit
some half-remembered hole
in the silver neck

bitter miners
like letters
chewed by
wending coggers
face livers of ingots
launching steel blooms
damward

where jaguars
oft dropped

Prescribed reading: medicine in literature | Books | guardian.co.uk

Prescribed reading: medicine in literature | Books | guardian.co.uk

Maneaters | n+1

Maneaters | n+1

A review of Cătălin Avramescu’s An Intellectual History of Cannibalism, in n+1.

Perspective from Mark Twain in India

Here is the tally-sheet for a gang of sixty Thugs
for a whole season - the gang was under two noted
chiefs, "Chotee and Sheik Nungoo from Gwalior":

"Left Poora, in Jhansee, and on arrival at Sarora
murdered a traveler. "On nearly reaching Bhopal,
met 3 Brahmins, and murdered them. "Cross the Nerbudda;
at a village called Hutteea, murdered a Hindoo. "Went
through Aurungabad to Walagow; there met a Havildar
of the barber caste, and 5 sepoys (native soldiers);
in the evening came to Jokur, and in the morning killed
them near the place where the treasure-bearers were
killed the year before. "Between Jokur and Dholeea
met a sepoy of the shepherd caste; killed him in the
jungle. "Passed through Dholla and lodged in a
village; two miles beyond, on the road to Indore,
met a Byragee (beggar - holy mendicant); murdered
him at the Thapa. "In the morning, beyond the Thapa,
fell in with 3 Marwarie travlers and killed them.
"Between Choupra dn Dhoreea met a Marvarie; murdered
him. "At Dhoreea met 3 Marwaries; took them two miles
and murdered them. "Two miles further on, overtaken
by three treasure-bearers; took them two miles and
murdered them in the jungle. "Came on to Khurgore
Bateesa in Infore, divided spoil, and dispersed.
"A total of 27 murdered on one expedition".


Mark Twain
Following the Equator
Dover, New York, 1897, pg. 432

WAITING FOR HIS BOAT: A fisherman with blue cowboy hat
waits for his boat to arrive at the Punnapra beach
near Alappuzha on Wednesday. Photo: H. Vibhu

A Barrage Against The Specific

Sweet Lamia! I am the coffee
in your father's bladder, I
am the coffee amoeba crouton ladder
which is made of skin chairs
collecting typewriters
made of coral apostropheces,
too many lame lamias
laying in my bed
of wine-sodden
boy-toy, say
vortex in oceanic shadow.

Marguerite Duras.
Marguerite Duras.

Think of a cosmic being
with a sun
for a heart.

Think of a cosmic being
with a sun
for a brain
and two suns
for eyes

like RAY MILLAND.

golden pupils
we must be, says Yoda.

Not a misanthrope.
Not anything in words.

Wound.
Wound up being,
Untranslatable.

primordia
is now.

Running Low On Coffee Manta Bladders

teflon wrist mogog
thistle head carpet taj
my hole

my teflon hole
with teeth

my teflon liver rivets
sing through rubber teapot
buss a blunder

thunder skull
chooses up
the heavy limericked
breasts whose
owners have
ascended

into amoeba straight-jackets

into spider sloth amoeba chandeliers
dangling wawa teapots

did you notice i was drinking
some tea today?

That is in "fiction world"..

"tongue cranium"

Story Because of Tender Religions

If I could touch
the long jade hollow
heart whose
prehensile hern
takes the shadow
neatly in arm
and down to the river
of solace singing charms

o
our sky-jowled hearts
like duck's eggs enthroned
in arm and arm rivers
neatly the shadow

the jade shadow
of hollow prehensile solace
the soft slow neck
in its arc

the cup, the cup
that came like hoof-prints
like leaves

If I could touch the sad old mirth
of the arm in arm velvet ringworms
that mine your skull for gold
if I could take the heavy liquid fire
right out these cinnabar bones
where fading feathered spiders take up pipas
in their rosettes of redundant balconies

If I had three external
and prehensile hearts
you could warm your face
in my throbbing

and I would raise the cup
the sad old mirth
of jade ringworm wine

What have you got in your head? on the Behance Network

Nice brain made of coffee beans!

What have you got in your head? on the Behance Network

Some Idle Commentary on my Poetry Career

The World is like the Yogi,
It witholds its navi color
Seamens from me.

The Burgers, they make no bugle,
the bugles, they see no beagle.

Whenerver I will
beggar, they give refuse.

Where heaver I glit heathern,
the Nixon tapes are dogged.

I am no pitiless
or pentium, pentheus
for the inside out heades
whose hades now
are never or never nowl bee

whooshing!

I give many quotes to historicas!

For it was I
that wrote

THE BOOK OF MIRDAD

Psi is not a parlour game,
but a purr-loined grammete.

Sky Dolphins

Poemics Muralese

Click on the detail to go to the mural.

Frightwig You May Only See Box

in death
is our collective anomie
perfected

for in being alive
at all
we disturb the primal gestalt

if this is not known to you
you are like a photon
trapped eternally between two mirrors

and your master's voice
is the call to deafness
blindness

and antinomianism
for the priest of entropy
is extropy
and extropy

is a drunken policeman
whose diaper is
an amoeba sun bracelet's

jasmine hog-be-flower displacement
cum codex Zegedyne

or

friend glumose numbat go

Tut-tut, or Chur-rr.

Frightwig, your grand campaign
is beaded strand
entering

skein castle stronghold
vibrating aimlessly in

brythic numbersome's
Diophantine Pell; dig:

Whenever the coefficient is not a square
the Pell has an infinity of solutions.

Fair Knight Jesus, You are Exiled From The Rabbit Women's Hutch

brig sleep calmly cordon
in tree foam bunga, lo

what wrinkled elbow face
now slathered in sulphur

what wheel-like prunes
wading in forever goodbye

enamel door bulb
which painfully display
green traffic

eye cones entering pupil
heavy weevil lip puppets
give stylized snarl
that emit mustache milk

the legs
go back inside the horse
the head not a patent
but a leather hornet

driving surgical whiskey

Tales of Suvlattlipoctli

Pluntimotion

More Beatnik Poems From Time / Life Magazine.

They will take us, Cassandra,
to live in an old shack by the sea,
and to make bongo drums
for their bad alien renditions of
Tennessee Williams.

And although I, too, often hear
that trifid triffid buzz, that
tripartite rhyparography in your
Lycophronic larynx when you
tryspurrt, I have trained
myself to

bongo albino iguana mocha
in night like palm sugar lips

and when your blood is flashing
Agamemnon Bowie, and when your
Clytemnesting bongo

triffid larynx, wot

Vin Mariani
Pope Leo says, drink
Vin Mariani

Miami style
and when you, Cassandra
are played by Lizzy T.
and I, Oedipus, are played by
Dick B.

like
our feet
are like really sawed off

for alien dig
coffee-style
mermaid

Eden Ahbez
Oz beast
Bouche'-Leclerq relates
like relates it, man,

This whole bit here
was like a violation
of your inclination, dig?

And in the glen of Ausonia
he shall stand like a colossus
resting his feet on the boulders,
the foundations of Amoebeus,
the builder of the walls,
when he has cast out of his ship
the ballast stones.

heavy.
like the exile
of the calcium people
is the evolution
of bone

of red skeletons
reading butterfly wing
books with capillary
rum

But I dig
the collossal Amoebeus.
I dig red elastic bones
of star-fire sambal.

I dig sweet brown bulldog amoeba
of alien vegetable
come to table
bristling in langue-flea.

Yeah.

And dig:

And the Phrygian, avenging the blood
of his brothers, will sack again the land
that nursed the ruler of the dead, who in
loveless wise pronounces relentless judgement
on the departed. He shall spoil the ears
of the ass, lobes and all, and deck
his temples, fashioning a terror
for the ravenous blood-suckers. By
him all the land of Phlegra shall be
enslaved and the ridge of Thrambus
and spur of Titon by the sea and the
plains of the Sithonians and the fields
of Pallene, which the ox-horned Brychon,
who served the giants, fattens with his waters.

Like
Stone baby
peepee
olive oil.

like demonkinder doodad hodad
pinch mega-loaf in weird garden
display modules

conical brain herms
glow with runic electron
hologram soda
rising like fright wig
hovercar juju

These aliens sure know how throw
a shindig.

THAT IS FUNGUS, HOUSTON.
that is~

toad esk ka din, dig
dig peepee underworld
of transparent amber rodent lung
made condo

of pineal balloon house
spraying ariagami glider poems

eden, you ah-beast
yyoouu aahhaaaaahaha

house
like
polka-dot
banana peel

slip
lippery
liver re
loppery
lope

Now are we, like,
"locked up in some twittering language"
?

twits
are wits
are all
light
anyway

bow
before
simple
cooing amoeba
your way rad
momdad hod-dud

pride fudd

hey, it's cool,
like ox-horned Brychon's bladder
is large

chang lang
in tri-cycle
were-house

make mocha
in deep cool ocean grotto
talking to myself

Cassandra
in spinning Gysinian
dreamachine
tube-dress
and tube hat

Triffid Herodotus Wittgenstein
Think mermaid java
think

four-skull
jaw-hopper
give odd
wa-agon wryde,
dig, digkana..

however language dust
must hook onto the world

like

nude F
nude T
nude L

!O~O!
--/--
^^^^^
- v-

Cassandra, lets crawl back into
our cellphone hammock

and let the iguana
opera opera coca loca

rum ricky

earth bone
stoned

let's let hamburgler
tend the eternal flame
of Zorroasper
while Apollo
eats hiss snake riddle
chorus-zone

We need more, like,
Beatnik poems

from Time / Life
Magazine

Black turtle
ascend crimson
noh mask

underground
skylight