Wednesday, April 29, 2015

the plain brown haggis wraps a rustic nugget




Monk
Nothing is known of this
I can hear snoring
unfettered by constraints of patrons
or politeness
be rude
macabre
bitter
according to mood



or swell like the spring
encapsulating this sunken capsule garden's
fountain ceiling impasse
the deep real of the sky
its garden of thoughts like a mural
each scintillating flower
may be turned over in the hand
an alien genitalia
you bring close to the face
to replace some universal photography
irking muteness



Monk
the iron maiden
bursts with a cacophony of flowers
painted nudes wreck their fiddles against the amps
festooned with honeysuckle
their clear transparent glass vampire fang lasers
bounce around in mirrored colonnades
who cares
the people get tall and skinny at the end
a woman's voice wavers like manta manta mantic silk ilk
irking newtness



Goya
your blind ears
are pecan leaves in the wind
and this archipeligro construction
of high pink brains
takes its rowboats carefully



wisteria tensegrity helmets
and electric thrashing whips
hovering yellow foam
the raccoons fit in
their lavender crescent armbands
severely chastize



the monk of noodles
with a paper thin currkette



pale blue pickles
like neutrinos
form a belt



spring
forked
and groaning
weirdly mild