Sunday, January 1, 2012

The Mistake of Filth

sweeping out the extravagant piles
of small yellow toads which had gathered
in the corners
slogging through the drifts of popcorn
which had gathered at the mouth
of the cave
a fist whose thumb said
good grooming for all good souls
the trees how heavy
the metallic snakes
of the beard of my mask
it's gathering

room b
the air lens
a crowd
would push out
from the secret

fear brightens all foo
the curled tusk
leading underground
all chaos ascending
the ammoth erd ould tanding


its snow
the area cubed
by what measure
could its uneven mirth

I sense a small lichen must posit
the eye is open
upon the less apparent transparent red orb
the organ solid pollen central
to its nigh gravity

comely host
what center translates
to this extremus

what path
to its humm
a terminus

half a silver egg
is door to the clubhouse

no call
elf cb

under massive layers