As If Its Elastic Chalice Were Sifting A Last Tic Or Calloused Dynarit

to appease its letting
appear, no reaper, no oompapa,
no application, just the fruit
of the ear, as if the sun
was listening in

to a negative
space its shine
its nice blind sty
the greyset tercet bound
in essensical torcasse

your broken leg
has a hornet's nest cast

and the cast walked out
on the shoot
and the shoot pushed up

and supper,
surely they suffer
the empty squashed egg
of the empty ovoid room
and the control panel

Terrabella
surging
through the stencil
[sic][e]

after then, of
terebral

the faucet of it popularities
teretosubulate, Ingweonic

the faithful call
to simplicity
and simplicity
calls back

wet her
myth stone

water, will, wone, wood

Roscido
de-awe.

In this damp place, we are
all weenedeed.


image by Sigurður Guðjonsson titled _Deathbed_,2006