exploding into colors, and the head itself
seemingly rides a tsunami of exploding color
independent of the head, with the head randomly
rotating, leaping out in front of the color, or barking mute
commands of ferocious incendiary chromature
that get taken up
in that palanquin of swollen and chaotic miasma
kufong
dijutu
fushin
if ever it had had eye sockets
the blind and radiant holes now gush
with exploding colors
and from time to time
they appear zoomorphic
but these gifts are those
of the universal projection
the force sustaining the head
the zonamewa tsunami
hesh mith zoss na irmo
naesh mi
mirnish zamo
nmizo
sameshni
its chin is a blinding flash
and explodes into pieces
and is rebuilt
green ram you treed
to play green reed your tree
to read it
they feed on blinding colors in the chinpod's
mobodollopine suspinder eko
eko din
gnit code oto
the front of its stone head
could be red pins fired out beyond
the speed of sound through orbs of green smoke
friends
let's be exploding friends
let us be totempoles of radiation
or freakish waves corvingling jujolupi
if they use old chin bones of exploding blue sky
for your eyebrowsers
if clusters of dark disks become your eyes
if your mouth is a hiss of golden wreckages
exploding
into purple lamb's wool amoeba runes
which suckle exploding nipple heads
surfing on golems of weird ink-islanded milk
iridescent with howling britterfee
say our colors comingled toward the hish
bosch slooped up wild and hot
in odalesque egg beings
green lava in eggs freezes into weird masks
that become desks to smeary exploding penots
bratuy
peem
if your sockets swallow whole
the ice of its mirror tell
tell this mirror your
bell
heaven as order
inform its hull
your school or timeless squirting pincer colored
putuy
hea von nutu
your head is an enormous exquisite stone
red pins fiercely wheen
where yehelo mibdist
the front of its
continually exploding into
colors
call lore
cull lure
light alluring
la its touring
we root
you tower
you avoid all possibilities
to bend
where even moon
at surface even orgy
y grows
again
The Truth Of The Matter
ReplyDeleteThe truth of Pogo. Gone.
ReplyDeleteIt is only through addition or multiplication that the exigete learns the 'meaning' of numbers...
Pogo rulz OK. Your poem was good, my comment piffle. Walt Kelly was a genius whose depths the modern mind generally utterly ignores.
ReplyDelete