Voracious For More Midget Santa

tomorrow Lapeena
they are not in our town anymore
a frog swallowed Mexico in arrangements
as vast as a hat
the cool egg shell thin stone of the violin
filled with firefly magpies
too tawdry to sell
but by measures shoe horned in
to all the right places
empty park benches
that lure those teevee headed shamans
into their lemonade colored bustles of wire
long rows of Napoleon clones
their faces wafting with the scent of Shiso

kiss my armpit
where the branches come out
train wrecks will chandeliers
from the saucy saunters of salamanders
damp under the smoke bush
where we linger lingually
like wet pages stuck on heliced balloons
clowns braiding our eyebrows
back into our snapping cowrie slit eyes
once covered in tacky cummerbunds

argyle tuxedoes are concertos
in the wavering seaweed's salute

let's dress these statues
and count the leaves
using silly

unrelated terms
unreleating

biss
flurca

cameos come in such colors
as wild roses
we cavemen scrape the scales from trout
with their edges
and unfold our accordion drawer jaws

to show the melted spoons
the sleeping wolverine
and the long black javelin through the moon

we advertise our paltry products
under big roadside
fedoras of sod

throwing gemstone pizzas
at the highway
with hands of gila hyde