Gobbling Markets... A Duty..

But who for toys brides hope to have
Fell sick and died, rapt and glad
In her gay prime, what?
In earliest Winter time, a flop;
With the first glazing rime, whoa!
With the first snow-fall of crisp Winter time,
burp! Time is dumb and drunk.. [fuck..]

Till Laura, her nug sack dwindling
Seemed knocking at Death's door:
Then Lizzie weighed no more toot
for Better and worse; (gruesome jesus, it's a first)
But put a silver penny in her kooky purse,
Kissed Laura, crossed the heath with clumps of furze
At twilight, halted by the brook of books with beaks;
And for the first time in her life (as a Russian whore)
Began to listen and look
at architectural porno in gloomy rooms..

See the Canadian War Museum on Acid.

Laughed every goblin (of "affect town")
When they spied her peeping at psycho brix:
Came towards her hobbling like ticks,
Flying, running, leaping,
Puffing and blowing,
Chuckling, clapping, crowing,
Clucking and gobbling,
Mopping and mowing,
good lord what a hush:

Hey Mooch, How's tricks?
Hey Mooch, How's tricks?
Hey Mooch, How's tricks?
Hey Mooch, How's tricks?
Hey Mooch, How's tricks?
Hey Mooch, How's tricks?
Hey Mooch, How's tricks?
(This is what the mess of language did.)

Flipping its coiny lamp-post of lap-dancing
lap-landers of Andean 'anding'..

What thought screwed the pooch,
kid? We must de-link our emotions
from our thoughts, and become
organs, emotions of skin,
moving gazelle-like or penguinish
on a goddamn surface like a Synge.

Odd things happen in organs,
gobbling markets, a duty.

Can you imagine the wax
in an Aztec earcanal?