The Vessel And the Seal

browed by insouciant pongs
of scientists in dreamy lodestone coccoons
the crippled christian sires another daughter
and a three-legged mite skates across the surface
of my eyeball, a spindly, whistling Kris Kringle
with a bag of commemorative plates of
Frederick The Great dressed like a Thai tribesgirl
as images are accidents in the very small world
one hydrogen atom not quite like another
maybe, you'd think Toulous Lautrec was Alfalfa
in a cardboard weasel telephone
shaking down all the caryatid arteries their humanitas
and gravitas in candied columns of humming
cheesy griddle icons

I would dance with you, hole in your green stockings
around the well of flailing Chthulu tentacles
to waltzes made like clanky rigormortises
conjoining some sort of accordian half-dimensial
cabetry like the Winchester house where I
lost my virginity to a three-toed carpenter
dressed like a Thai tribesgirl who worshipped
Kris Kringle in his aspect as a mercurial
and glabrous droplet of mirror floating
like a yoomka where the butter in the clouds
comes pouting down to dinner
white slacks you give mole'
and through the windows of its town
such soft sad hotrods purr
such spiny echidnas of samurai
and spark machine watertowers
wiggling into orbis pictis punctas
fictives frictives fractives actives
arctic hectic plectic elective
eventually the seal will be broken
they always are, and the vessel
will be drained into a shattered
elf polo barn.