Saturday, May 7, 2011

Cut Continents of Stacked Rugs

furaway nee threll me hake me noken
fonthu dumoor own baal pythoon bo obe
so naken mudo

lapin rudder zoot

cell cheer hearthside the hugs the bakin'
washing their mittens in the fountain
don't be alarmed when our horse and centipede
lantern the hero door token
its central spindle balance
all these sprayers are aligned not broken
a moving chair to take thee along the garden wall
from oven to oven
and not soldiers are stationed but our clowns
and felt shroud whisper burglars
hints of a 3 level box

soft dolls cannot be stolen
leave them alone and let them drift
through the tents and averaging

a vast and inky paw in unleashed under the fluorofoam cottons
ponds take vertical answers unto trembling tomes

shaking the beetles out of its rug like coat
creamy mountain lizardry

glass heralds
with colored waters
and rotating morn spices

perfume cannon to the sky
skin less puffy
one good eye

squint at lost luggage
can't speak the language anymore
doubled over on fumes
laughing but dying