Three "Joe 6" Poems

Joe Six

Tamburlaine, the bruise is yet spinning,
The long mind we have mined yet
Surely will we drain what little leavings
Here, take root in soft burls, a carnation
is a driller.

Joe 6 scumbles toward the pussy ghat,
Its heimlich mandorla shedding
Walking stick heirlooms that blink
Whatever emblems mark in a flat
Restive penance of junky bloated
Pom-poms.

Roman ants heft up a loogie.

==

Joe 6 Dressing Among The Towering Lotus Burps



Lame and
weary aisles,
Joe 6
whose headset
phrizzles

Are as
autonomous as
the cell
phones which
stalk me,

Tamburlaine, timorous
as a
door mouse
fatted up
with pudding,

Fatted up
with walking
sticks and
cell phones
ringing in

Its skin.

Joe 6, slide your card along the reader slit, the polite oral camera
has scanned your specs and neon curtains cover krill tanks
Where the mermaids change their skin. The King of Egypt's
Daughter is having oatmeal with a monkey centipede
Crawling in her hair she calls Barnaby Jones.

Unlock. Lengthen. Laminete Gog has not struck (%^] dead.


==

The Stele Upon The Pussy Ghat

Laminete Gog has not struck (%^] dead.
(%^] will live in the house of Laminete Gog forever.
Laminete Gog turns with the rising of the sunmoon.
Laminete Gog wills the ocean to open its pussy ghat.
Laminete Gog is the tunder.
(%^] will wear hir organs on the outside in the snowflake waves.
(%^] will turn hir face from the cauldrons of krill and cell phones.
(%^] will tune hir hump of walking sticks to KQUASI.
Laminete Gog will cum in the sun, and make a sound like an Admiral Barking Whale.
Laminete Gog will forcefully fold a thing which is like paper into a "writhskinclast".
(%^] will listen to the speaking columns, the swete maroon birch chrome columns.
(%^] will take hir constellation of emblems into the nausea of accordions and

cotton fluff apartments which hover in adoration of Laminete Gog.


GOG GOG GOG
laminete my underwear and make them unslopy by the hymn of your faces and sluments.
laminete me, and make my sharpei bruise logic as crisp as a three dollar brill cream.

lami me, O GOG!

(%^] will obey the traffic signs.
(%^] will shirk no duty, especially if's.
(%^] will riding gaping shark holes through frigid markets of giant paper bug skulls.
(%^] will stay with the elder Krogi, who has toppled drunkenly from atop Orpheus' hymn of GO!
(%^] will rasp the wild aspirins in the willows of hir marsupialia.

Laminete Gog will beam brightly, a slick wet liver with a skin of green leather philately
heaving walrus-like in black wedding gown over crushed beaches of nasal decongestants.

(%^] will stay in flagranto delicto all hir baorndaze..