Sweet Blue Brazilian Eye Shadow Falling Over Russia

Whiskey is the singing of an old Bulgarian woman
whose voice is young, beautiful, and haunted~

by the aching hills in which Ennio morricone's
walking cane was born.

Mimsy Farmer is my teen-aged lover
who believes in Satan (memesy pharmer)
who cannot stand up in a tiny room
owned by a lamp, or the [it]
of lumpenkraft.

A lonely writer has no friends,
and whistles for his one legged dog
he calls Conscious Pilot.

Conscious Pilot
will drive the lovely BMW X3
through 'connect to cut'~
through a 'mass of chewing sets'
Simsbury, or buried simulations, like
bumptious pilates instructors in toe.

He will drive without romance
through heavy stones
which have fallen from the jaws
of an old and alien magi:

Abe Vigoda Alpha Centauri,
or Lizard Caesar Rayban Wayfarer.

Ennio Morricone
has been cast in a terrible play
involving fatwas against his hairdresser.

The Conscious Pilot
grows tired
of smearing spermy sweet potato
upon the Italian language
with long floppy paddles
made from decaying brazilian whiskey.

Horses.

There is a conspiracy
to touch my testicles
which sounds like an old woman's cat.

My testicles
are the fallen breasts of an old woman.

Mimsy Farmer
is a coffee stand in the Russian forest
that I visit
in a thick flannel armor
and turtle shell mask
studded with old Bulgarian amber
carved into tiny children's thumbs.

The name of the prison in which I live
is Ennio Morricone's Walking Cane.