Hammerhead Dandy With Roly-Poly Eyes

Lay quiet Polly, the hairy foot
in plastic gallows sings the careless glitter
of its soul, and I want to hear, or
syncopate your gorgeous snoring

Beau Brummel has dressed you like a puppy
in gypsy sailors, fetish pipes of red sand,
your hands in tiny wedding dresses

Lay loudly Polly, the inconsolate grunting
of your organs is the whitest eagle over murk and madly
squeaky orchestras of humanoid bronze
connected in this blue cobwebby bizenthreen
of spray-on lulla.

Beau Brummel has prised your teeth
from the green leathersoft and rubber bit which cantilevers off
of the hysteresis of lakeside grooms [so]
everything tan and muscular inside a pony
everything suede inside the long cabinet barn
Ladies in men's hats [pentagon room game vessels]
launching exploding furniture into Maine (Nymal to bog-trots)
a place of naked raccoons sneaking like slaves of ashy chord-roses
between the sleeping velvet lips
of whatever curiously disgruntled neighbor
and their hammer-head hips

Fie thee, for curved glass, and give out with funny picture!
Fancy sharkskin muddles, the melting buckle of a paragraph
sits fatly on Polly!