Saturday, September 25, 2010

Nocturnal Innocence. (In a seance, or sens sans sense)

(signs the actual nabobs near the underground entrace,
weird and naked in sapphires and saffron_

human pencils climb
the inky black tor-fon,
its steppes and disk-like protuberances
home to milk white bonnets
grown from sufflage

is the carnal bliss
of siblings

and dry abstract bones
join together
in the hollows of giant bicycles
to be fleshed with intricate cushions
while watching

divas of transparent pink grease
aria transparent glass chains
which slither lyrically through disembroidied



summa en collideorscopic
the new vision
is the old knowledge
the bird stripped beer by
whore bacchic lures



Igor Lungfoot
as candidate

nont smunch kussen
our wrinkled heads go off together in the rain
to gaze at the one lone

day-glow green
swim flipper
floating solemnly above
the grand canyon

and you say so

"I'd wear it like a duck's bill,
if it would just come back home.."

I cannot help you.
I cannot play you

unless my cornucopia phonograph horns
rotate toward

the concubine wood roe
eeking the beast hail

lot foo.