Old Etching Upon a Duckbill.

fetlish pragum is
the substantial relishing,
an ivory to the purpose
in the thicket, a
figurine in which
the journey
to the beginning
is founded, here,
in its end; send
the signed
and inviolate
orders to conceal
this merry, over-
merry, aerie.

there is no murk
in murk, no light
in light, but
every photon
bright,

a balcony of mud
made crimson
in the early.

burly curls
hang heavy
and lewd,

and smooth
10 ton monkeys
grow like a fugue,
and duck-billed lifters
move up and down
along a black rod.

where you stand
is in the smooth caress
of elevated duckbill.

this whole black cavern
is like an ice cream of coal
on a most massive orange
duckbill

whose curve
is like the leg of Ahab,
the lag
of Baha.

You may even see Moby Dick's
enormous duckbill,
and those long chain carbons
and trashbags
that trail back for miles:

plastic founds
our cortical,
and pundit views
a punky loaf.

some eager beavers
are surfing down it
on their duckbilled campers;

chafant
its errant wigling
faddle

must ever produce
a weird flat beak

or a zoarium
of platinum
foot charms.