Friday, November 20, 2009

Tedium Achieves Some Simple Cellfoonery 5




within the tedious tides brought in
by the terrabile cellfoon that day,
i had found a lithe little torque
of nudely branching barnacles clustered
closely to the tedium of the ages,
speaking in squeaks to an ear so
pounded by the crushing luminosity
of all forms so as to be recognize-
unable. and with the erect crystalline
magnifier petals of my enraging masque
of tedium, i turned the full brunt of
all speech upon the smoke-like haunts
of its wireless pool of little salesmen.

donny dug a starfish frisbee nipple
out of the corner of his eye and put
a patent pearl into the musical mucous
surrounding the tedium hole's shade head
paddles, whose sweet lissome voice
had been banalized by a billion children's
feet all stamping in unison for a hundred
trillion years, or a week, maybe, looking
up their wad counts and cucumber pants
in the tide-pool's outerest comynglinguagiam.

the dirty detective's shoe lace lapped
at a tedious tongue embedded within the
terrabile stone seance. the dreary pale
uneven resonances continued abatingly
onward as a blank furniture book came out
on the portico to chat with us awhile
after we died in the shark denture's
tinker garden folio.

in the world she said, and in tedium,
i intend to out-herod any odd hearing
herring herein, etc. i know you're all
phonies, i said, some sleep-themed
divinatory cells straightening out my
puppet's hoplite blemmy head, looking
around for fuel cakes amidst the starving
lower creatures, or their lovers, whose
political tediums scene for blank ridiculum
when the sun wine gloms englass.

it's a transparent ass-oppossum that enters
a holy knight's cheshire shell fin fustible,
where goodness gasps under the good, and evil
suffocates under the bad, all is lost when
vegetable time is regained, tedium reigns.

i see nothing in your eyes anymore, but
vegetable bridges to vegetable lands. she
stopped me right there. tide pools gave electric
johnson his only chance. i shrugged through
jointed appendages, often clawed with hard
exterior skeleton and bilaterally symmetrical
isopods, the fits we get in with the ur-chins.

i sing a little song then:

your chants in urgency grow
here in urchance, in your change
all the shanties know, what is
my shant is your agency, and
what shunts the hunt is a
bunting on blank volumes
sluicing tidal through
the whole, sweet tedium
as skeined in an

involuting
floral
engine

whose jeweled strings
pass through green nipples
which live on tufted flanges
around the whispering mouths
whose tiny pastel teeth of
lacy pollen get our tedium
to vellum what sage blankness
airs its rust these anemone
eyebrows dictate hush, ovarian
eye bushes hang heavy down
through its crust where another
tedium of mangled busts erupts
from the scum of twisted vegetable
mermiads the salesmen polish
with their choral head-wheel
helmets for dust.

suicide is tough
in a fog so thick
with substance and
instruments

where in a tidepool
can one go
to line one's membrane
with sanctified nudity

barkers harsh
the poor little harps
that find themselves
born in a cellfoon's
lobster gliding upward
for daze but then falling

a monumentally
primitive eye
scans the dead sky

and we all
roll over
in the dumb
head's tide

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