toking on a soup pipe
with ortolan
the medusna bong
hasps its lickerish will
upon the men of rome
nagapotty is sad
three birds already
toked, three suns
already roasted
brisket still stiff
a coconut replaces
the victim's head
medusna lights herself
with a nautilian cube
and traverses its bed
going out into human traffic
spreads the fever of the ortolan
illegal brisket armor
your feathers are firewords
hollow bones tucked
between your upper lip
and gumbs
pan gets scary in winter
his pants made of ortolan ash
and the heavy yoke
keeps banging the barn
a thick sleep cavity
can't escape the bed
medusna accidents
the soup pipe's melody
through soup-like engines
rome is a dirty
nagapotty
and the ortolan
hang out in gangs
like drifts of snow
perfect purple salads
enter mirrored valleys
this is some waze zaway
downstream
these newer ortolan
are clay-holy jizzy beans
their flip top fire carburetors
eat suede, and the frosty blue
secrets of tin
are everywhere in their skin
a platinum fizz
crushing medusna's
wax bong head
where the litters
of tubercules
seat themselves
politely for the movie
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Irrony Observes The Earthing.