Thursday, August 19, 2010

Perfect Mon

sometimes we are made to suffer
our legs are chrome walrus

sometimes we are made to dance
inside the narrow space of all the ignorance

sometimes, there is a courage

the long-haired apollo wood-chuck
is taking little chickens
in a cup

oh the little book of feathers
its extrnal organs have snagged
on someone's snaggled


we move among the lathes
in the slow-motion entangling
of throat wattles
on old french movies
of drool

this cavalier malfunction
assumes a springsome saltcellar's
golden angular

Cellini (bag head)

The herm post
grows its own green beard

[werewolf tricycle hidden inside a twinkie]

stapling on medals
to a hearse

the poem is talking to a thin child
in a room full of old fat

the poem is a thin child
in a world of old fat bastards


1 comment:

  1. kewl poem! i really like this line:

    "stapling on medals
    to a hearse"!

    now that's alchemy!

    hope yer havin' a good summer! mia is heading back to school this weekend. we went out to the olympic peninsula last weekend. man, it is just amazing out there. so wild and green. did some kayaking and mia went for a lake swim in the mermaid deeps... crystal clear water and tangled trees making organic geometries under water. gonna be in portland this weekend. will go make some burroughsian incantation at yer old place to resonate a frame from the astral plane... send me your address (on facebook or something) and i'll send you some mail art! peas and carrots.


Irrony Observes The Earthing.