the skin inside a shoe
is tied to the murder of all
that is holy, mr. buffy-cat
is back at dribbles
watching paper-helix sirens
inside of vacuum tubes
linking to the beeking
bike-king viking
nicking its shins
on nipples
hard as hovering lamps, now
modulating the vast sweeping
outdoor staircases
leading down into
the telescoping garden
where the pajama people
squirm in pods,
aztec stele suddenly
made of rose hips
jaundiced ice bicycle
replicating along
the twisting pine spine
laced with books and
purple pinecones
like lizard heads
with emerald lip-stick,
the jellybeans
of old Gondwana
are puttis made
of kink-face saffron,
lucky kitten, come into
my warm brain clam
away from the other
alley dwellers,
you are home.
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Irrony Observes The Earthing.