Voch’ vok’ ch’giti

(flarf pome for a final age of smallness)

in case you
might kwanza my phoenix's shyang mask
my kwanza hen is from the koxinga clan
and my fang car changes its tune
to that of the koxinga clan
there are various disturbed people
on the radio
like Frau Troffea Hekate'

i changed my pen to a peccary
i changed my pen to a cur
i was changed both by hating
and by hanging
this is in fact a car sea
of dewey loam
dude brand wet wipes look sheepish
on the crooked mantle

no one knows
how these hen feathers
grow from my nose
"these days"
self-confidence comes
from a bottle
and moves freely
over the stones

great winters
are congenital gradients
in which the frass of all things
moves tidily upon the designation
'to scatter willfully'

great springs well up
where the arch poet sighs:
being deformed is natural
you're all gnats attempting to tour
the waiting room


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