OLSON AT LA VENTA (On a Chunda-Burro)

Chunda-burro slits in the old growth tree
Tiny Tim Leery rubbing Fagin's knees
Flap, Chunda-Burro, Flap, Chunda-Burro
grey your live mist bee.

swete duneky, ye wa cala hed me mo
ye wa crala bed pee mode swete, duneky

dawn key, eye alone in thee,
ye tigress egret crowley growly mead
which flarfs out upon the stones
anguish unto English, Oh bat-winged
Chunda-Bureau

O Escritoire of mucous colored bones,
your soft-shelled Baudelaire crabs
hunt me in the Chunda down unda
where the bloddy nibs chide their
pen heeds headlong as a burro's
thunda

O penny-lace Timothy
panty-faced and leering
your tiny chunda has grown
as big as a banyan of eyelashes

O ship named argosy
tiled with hairy eyes
you sail in chunda
leery and flapping
your tigress egret sailors
digression in regression's
leering chunda
your corybantic choir of bandits
emits soft and odorous odes
like donkeys on commodes

Olson Toltecayotl rides a pale piglet
into the Bathlehymn of foetal werewolves
La Venta, same as it everwas, tripod
in your knapslack stotem or a cule
breeze...


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