Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Not At All

Bugs closely related
to Daffy Typhlotriton,
Mammoth Floyd lacking
wooden rock, its
buck-jawed schmoo
as ornery to the faberge'
ego, as is the surmale
to the surmise, missing
each, its sermon to the stem.

His head spoke a little,
then detached itself discretely
and floated off, only moored
by some subtle anthology of
pockets kissed with mist
on a Wednesday mourn,
night caves of sucking air,
mouths of mammoths to groan
toward some sun song's
external lung arms, which,
bird-like do the pumping
for the typhlosphinxus'

The clones have shared mind.
The mind has shared clone.

The Individual is already its own superstition.
No. Not at all.
Nature is not the profane object.
To be ideological in contemporary times
is to point to the actual profanity, and that
profanity is the pure work

of a moral sapience
cloned into elegant labial humbrellas
which flow like taut packets of honey,
bloodcells of honey
which rocket down wild obsidian chutes
through burning hot ovals
of boiling lime green lava

each with a little door of cool choola
which whispers


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Irrony Observes The Earthing.