Wednesday, March 2, 2011

Quarles Port, and Aged Peppercorn Cheddar.

running back to the dog
where it had lain for a moment panting
his hands still
skidding throughout all mint
the slopes
where it had slopped up tragic walls
and back down into whatever brangles
were teased out of oblivion
cornered in a platypus tricorne
gasping where a body failed
languor becoming lazy
swooned to image
black world in a yellow sky
like a splash
the mirror dulls itself
on a capsized cannon shell
talented but brain-dead
head looking oblong
puffy defuncting
can't see it but
only fleetingly
this dragon's body the gameboard
only physiognomy can repair our
system's day
paper he tried to read
on the apparencies of giving social domains
over to metaphors of autopoiesis
people aren't exactly molecules
but they aren't exactly not
fitting in

his eyes find weird concrete capstans

a political sign


which sounds like
big brown iron door knocker
not the thing you grab
the big stiff iron
spring-tension'd beard
you pull down
nut-cracker style
then just let go
shotgun ground trap
the old brown iron teeth
snapping shut ominously
doodad father time curio
how pretty it would look
with a hamhock holding it open

black hamhock world
in a yellow sky
talented but braindead