Wednesday, August 15, 2012

Brewing Broods By the Storm (Group Lung Mind Ointoint)




coffee is the flying
ointment (would be)
in the fly cream,
which wings would ever linguish
to the hover
dream, O
composite eye
molten flowing cores of iron worlds
who breathe

these lungs are visible
and covered in eyes
and photon flies
are the cream of Delphi

know your thighs
for the runner delights
in going

cafe' up next
it's showing
our humble cup
is a diamond of knowing
and every tasteful metaphor
bends like the reed

where Pan's seed
is ever glowing

the fly-head Pan
whose iron chin
so warm on your thigh

vibrates in the morning
and what thermal oracle
do the locusts' sing

knitting psylens~
wiry thing

the gnith and irrew
overawl