Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Poetry the Same Sore God Which Watches Over All

(bucking and snorting like a woman)

and yet this whatever still moves
a grey-haired spider in the loom
the grey-head scissor tail is the handsome
remain and go down bouncing through
the spiral secret stone staircases chat
and out into the lawns looking up pert
into jumbles of high blue gravel scope

this too remains pushed into flesh-less apt
maps these actors only veins the spiders
riding birds in a flurry of yarns and webbing
good bad sissy make shuttle cock go boom
stone hand dappled in the code of Morse
in the wire of glare in the days of Rome on a
zeppelin of hair the gladiators are relieved
to find their cats at home nipping and mewling
the milk-fringed shallow gorgon bowls
and chains

waking up jaws furred in participatory semi-precious
trouble the den of thieves whose Apollinaire
sieves flowers which dust with photon reason
and the lift for terrible bandage wonder kiss crony
by the oaken flume you both viewed
the transparent crimson fungi and
if external lungs will raise a feud perfume
then a hawk at the top of the obelisk
in June can piano the loom

for crystal beard hair whatever can move
down into the piano loom to loose
through the pink cotton hearths
that dot the sparse rooms spare
armadillo snake arms to croon
the traditional french in English garden
Cardinal Riche In Lieu point partieu ouit ouit
and send its clear dabloons or tears
the Spanish ships the main sails
urged by reddest X the darkly
crumpled deer its snout snooshing
on the wine golden sharks teeth
to pepper and

by a curious chair would ride
the augur with wheels on
continuous incline to view
the clincher clinical clinamen heir
the ex-men in the park
obscured in clusters
of saffron cellphones

let their nipples
be a lesson
the hovering robotic totems
over Venice

where fate's vatic scissor tail
holds the handsome smooth head
feeling just bonzo from
Felix's mouth

lobe birthswallow