Thursday, June 16, 2011

I Took The Pistol From Its Periwinkle Akapagroove.

softly the mist
is strangling my head
and softly the brick
is crushing

courting throbs
of quickening questions

head shrunk now
sound more heavy with sand
hot testicle breath
combs solvent cicero
a needle wasp's
fortuna olmudande'

and sits up in bed
worn tiger ivory paper
its wadded silk domain
unrustling insect chrome
to the washerwoman's sweat scented
back slung guitara

let it roam
dark incandescent ovals
asleep in Poseidon's brow
long sleek ship like eye brow
cutting spider bird letters rising before
their smoke cloned other

hush after a beating

tender leaf

walm clungdstpioll
while I am softer clay
with flowers