The Fat Luminous Red Toad-Like Forehead Mole

we three are one
we three are toad

and the fourth toad
the poet in the road
where the bridge of sticks
crosses the river
which runs down into a hole
like a cave

a cave that comes up partially
out from the ground like an egg
which has broken
the hole

into which the bridge goes
with the river

like a needle and thread
to sew an egg
we three are toad

one fourth
the poet in the road

with green britches
and a white velvet tunic

with a face
where old Albion
laid with its mother

horse-skin dyed blue

a horse

thrashing in a vat
of fat blueberries

will take the skinless lamb
into its mouth, the poet-toad-lamb-horse-blueberry

and where the white velvet egg crosses the road
there you will find
a lizard in a woman's skin
sewing a face shoe onto a blueberry

inside an all pervasive vibrating being
of viri-molecular language particles
there will you find


an antineoplaston cellphone swaddled in unctuous messages


mercury spilled
on a rippled mirror


of flaccid blue toad mole horse poet caves


android anus stars with glitter eel rays


the little animals need their prostheses
which are other little animals