Monday, February 6, 2017

thresher elizabett erex

close on forty thousand frogs were there
in the dimple of her chin that most ominous
and somber of these mount mehru adjacent
language churning fat-chewing churricles
so to begin with think how anything you see or feel
or fear might be an example of thresher elizabett

erotic error is everywhere
eros like horror is matter itself taking a day off
determination and allowing logic its own emotion
by means of adding insult to injury aka
the blind radiations of complexity
and how they infect the masses

i like to imagine a goddess column
with forty thousand breast frog foams
moving up and down like a penis elevator
between here and the sun
straight to the heart of the sun

you can imagine
a solid golden frog
right in the heart of the sun
saying something like
'liquid gold vagina'
or 'i am the parrot of keening'
it really doesn't matter
none of it matters it's sort of like a chalkbeard
where the wiriting is despiriting
because the sad puff of smoke
you designate spirit
can barely get the pencil moving

it certainly can't draw
it just sort of scribbles around the surface of the earth
fidgeting with the little people
the frogs of the pond

but then again
maybe it's all inside us

maybe the frogs are the universe of possibilities
and the external universe
in the end

is just our big