Its tiny transparent throat
reveals a perfect calf's head,
a thing of golden ductwork
genie trails, rows of pearls
like rooms or retorts, each
holding its own triumphant
guru of specific composition,
and scales like amulets
performed by compressed layers
of ancient fossilized levers,
crassly coruscating antennae
fused into functionalized trinketry.
Trickery abounds and is the ~coeur*
neur stone of natural lures and tangents,
one lyre launched on branching
and capillaric wings of participles
gives any incipience its just rewards,
graceful branching veins enact
a coordinating surface area cognate
to the political ends of reasoned
biology, herds of ornamental calf's
heads roll by like cars for genetic
godesses, and we all make glitter glue
gum extensions to tie our tusks
into baskets hiding brief encounters
of closed shop foremen and their
skin-plaque gobble dangers.
From hearth to hearse
the ass is sounding dawn's
fail key, no safe seas
for everyman, the womb
reveals a rabbit, a hat,
and a trembling hand
whose strings are mostly
elevators filled with drunken
militants, those gurus
of absolute peace of which
paeans are sounded, then
ab-dismused.
O sun of green hair, your skinless
emblem knots glide
with screaming girdles
in the fog of actuary eyeballs,
things like monkey lips
hang in the windows
of cathode cookie towers.
Reduction seems moot
where the mole
air guitars the banana nose.
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Irrony Observes The Earthing.