plauses in the pocession

(take hold of my paratext, greeting)
to board smear when how for foundaries take hold the prisoners all declaim 
how the douanier's ek-oilskin sheds a fogdog camera of milling silent drops
 or silhouette just crazing the cream may with rounded a forking corners the
grey folded fabricant whose tongue gilt ladders periscope along a blind alley
 of transparent hallucinating worms leaves a standing blunt for escarpments
 gone fishing for friendship's smooth jade kirin the body darker than the head
 and the whole form smoothed like a pipe handle from the kisses of acid dusk

(possession is confirmed by gravity)
an onyx symbol laid swaddling in fine grey linen
its constellation of hovering opaque lenses
performing roses upon the gateless gate
no plausibility exists to button

(as are ghosts)

hole this boot in ear

a fluted branch whose song

is a single silver leaf blade

which replaces the empty cage

whose spotlight of pseudopods

at once goes clowning

(within the careful layers of disorder)

ontology

you are solar fellation

which I blind

with my popcorn tiara forehead visor

the great chain of being

alas

is blonde

(the rubble of names sheltering a were-ness) 

Śūnyatāsaptati 

Vigrahavyāvartanī 

Vaidalyaprakaraṇa 

Vyavahārasiddhi 

Yuktiṣāṣṭika 

Catuḥstava 

Ratnāvalī 

Pratītyasamutpādahṝdayakārika 

Sūtrasamuccaya

Bodhicittavivaraṇa 

Suhṛllekha 

Bodhisaṃbhāra 

(gravity wills a trojan horse decorum)

my dog is overflowing

and the svelt pert ballerina

is poised upon the rickets of balcony

the inner POE

whose forehead

sprouts

a delicate crosshair

of Amontillado

(a crazing notion whose vision)

episteam

your blurred machine

if cape you locoined

if capon

by distance

we sleep in transparent blue chicken heads

our skulls pushing silking threads through goblet snakes

hyphen to 

your bubble masts

and drug wax mast head cannons

paper drifting

into stilted cathedrals

of paper

to be rolled on styx

detects an exterior mapped upon our boundary

a yellowed fur

we enter or leave

making brisk symbolic motions

in praise of heat

but to average its penciple's pressing deed that

We dew not one

we sphere weeds

for anarchy

ontology

fellating

semiotics'

whole

at-onts

a bulge through the line

could be anything

even an impasse

which qualifies

quanta

as cant

Why is there no red hot iron statue of Prometheus

glowing in the night?

salad hovers

singing through these canals

made of rusty horse shoes

(star tyger and star aerial)

the great sentence

in all its plastic Fredness

pulling

sucking

saliva from a muscle

the CELTIC peeple

all wearing mohawk sponges

sometime in the past

newspapers

had made me crazy

X-OF

ilsbanf nasnii

a tea of lavender foam

for helmet

and salamanders

for ears

I get no good gravy

but notice

my grey linen suit remains

but all the onyx

is horses

PEGASUS

you

are the 18th century

for a contemporary

RUDABAYGA

a blue velvet mask

for an invisibble mahn

the terse hippies of germ any

brightly clad daisy

your nurse

to a tea kettle

(just drop it they said)

but I push OHN

thru

Gravid teases

looking above

my own Bertrand Deborn this way

for signs

Whose ROMANTIC DEVO?

whose Samurai suddenly

Philadelphia

in lace

stained with

resonating masks

this heavy mask

speaks only to children
whose black asides
are lost
in cherish mote

Ahh Germane is Germany

the HOLY a HYLE and a GULL

an Ophelian minstrel platter

sent to test the guests

their verve

for raising hands

and arms 

against it

(but who comes first?)

It is a brat

no worse for wear

but always

pushing

its grey jacket

to the gap

How is this ever okay, exactly?

There is no significance to anything,

nor lack of significance.

Water is travel

awaiting

your most elegant kiss.

read the words

and suffer the revolt

the journey will define itself

whose amorphous blue door

is the tranquill zebra

of effort

THE LEFT HAND PATH ENCODED FIRMLY

in the joy of motoring

and style

a little bird owned me

tugging too and frow

on a candle

of shadows

The Great Work

is the pause.

this is no child murder.

this is no nudity.

I move to conjoin

heaven and earth

with a drainpipe

of clearance sales

upon a temple

to

mild dew

(gravity is itself drawing, the poison in and out like breathing)

Why CANT you, UNDERSTAND

The thought is a room

and the instrument

all scattered

beyond it

this prayer

is a grey jacket

i find by feeling

in a dark room

a shadow

feeling for shadows

near an oily macrame' bulb swing

depicting mutant owls

whose feet

are green faucets

Alchemy

is

Kedds.