How does one 'engage' with a massive ball of ghouly-foam,
with dangling history-morph nozzles under denim approached
by womb factories in frilly yayas?
you fucking oaf.
if i were there i'd grab one of the handles
an ear
of your funny jug head
and pull it down to the ground
until your face kissed leaf mush
until you became the bottom of pan's foot
littered with abstract fragments of brown
what the fuck
is a sui generis boot-strapping of consciousness
in the middle of a rock field
supposed to look like?
you fucking don't know.
you can't even say
I want a temple that looks like an explosion
and inside
well i guess inside
it could be a lab called
fun
or earnest construction
it's quite understandable where humanity finds its indifference
its various and unending blindnesses
we were born into it as amoebas, into them
[comes with the suit, kid]
into a naked black howling night (or whatever,
green bee bbq wend whig mill
mull or sash til ill ulus lugus sugar busts with extruded fruit mush cauliflower ears]
huh?
like a sucking sound (grasshopper in the subway? how about
dawn's truffle furred cellphone amoeba
vacuum to vacuole
flush to flush
like mather
like psun
holy wood
blurred avenue
arc
of the forty mile long zeppelin hall
where the choirs
stand inside
a hollow glass elephant head
singing
golden mammary head-chargers
commingle in the data shooki
their long blue face wigs
dangling for miles
out the end
sprach
shkëndijë
p’aylktal
qığılcım
vonk
dzirkstele
spítha
percikan
iskra
varnica
kiss kraal
skin dj
faísca
wreichionen
tia lửa
kıvılcım
civil chem
mech-livbre
i see
and what Blake did not tell Inaureveal
that the ouroboros
whose lion's head w/ a medusan snake mane
is nought but a bead on a ring
and that that bead's face
is grimace of glimmers
a glimace
a valence
a trinkle
