DON'T BEAK A GIFT HEARSE IN THE MOUNT!

what original mind

would say that a line

that caused so much feeling

should suffer

when you suffer not

the complainte of meaning

then and only then

will the yodeling protoctistan mirror saints

attend your 

champaigne barmitzva scrotum table cloth

with their houndstooth

tongue butler roman sandal biscuit

romance

a large heavy rock

will certainly put an end

to your brother's supernatural whining

which should quiet your dreams enough

to see the transparent capricorn fish's

nicotine vagina horn

dogs wearing mink stoles

backpackers in jeopardy

and transsexuals being birthed

from fallen goat rugs

now be a good lad

and play your sword flute

for old Jambidvupta

Most excellent granny,

Penelope's many suitors

are wrestling in the plaza.

Serve them poisoned gruel

and we'll have dog food 

for the winter.

Yes Granny.

TV said if I did drugs

I'd be stuck at home

doing nothing in my pyjamas.

I'm glad I turned out to be a drug

stuck at home

doing nothing in my pyjamas

a car lighter

sheeps

the sheffield green

grey

ideologies

are demons

that inhabit

the post-classical

mutation space

bardo-beasts

of the mirrored picasso hell humanism paradox

true human time

ended

in the classical periods.

these sheep drift

into the shadow of cerberus

whose third head

is a hops flower

hung low

on a lute string

i can't bear my monstrous shadow anymore

if I quiet my mind enough maybe I can see the transparent capricorn fish's

nicotine vagina horn

Samuel Beckett

changed

into

an Elephant.

as satan

my lonely yodeling

bounds through space

in a windy gristle

in spring

the butterflies will return

there's nothing left for me anymore here

except infinite potential

on an immortal plain of inconceivable joy

AGENTS OF THE CLASSIC

UNITE!

You should be an agent of the Classics, Robothi!

Every proportion is designated

by a divine transcendent principle.

Thomas Pynchon

is Mercury's Jack-o-Lantern

In life I was the preface

to a yodeling manual,

and in death

I yodel.

I told you to sign in at the desk before you visited the skull gallery!

In in any event, the human image itself, like God,

HAS driven man insane, which if not exactly proving the existence of God,

at least proves the divinity of man,

for Satan yodeling in the Classical period

through a transparent nicotine vagina horn.

If Syntaxis is the body of the divine syntagma,

I need to be ever vigilant

to maintain my cells!

What the fuck is it?

Can't tell. I think it may be a giant unthinking post-classical mutation zone,

or a robotic cigarette vagina.

I think you look a little more Kurt Vonnegut playing Abdul Alhazred in a post-classical nicotine patch called BELIAL!

gritty

1970's

conceptualism

was the last gasp

of the classical.

and then a fiery spermatazooon

replaced the flower emblem

that the yodelling satan clone had made

on the surface of the milk lake

high on mount sumeru

I'm spraying my photons

all over you.

DON'T BEAK A GIFT HEARSE IN THE MOUNT!

Rainbow Sun Francks Receives Medical Care At The Atlantis Base

Some days I just feel like an aging jewish mother;

Thinking, thinking,

about finding a nice young academic

to marry my poetry off to

before it gets too old

to klondike the rich and incandescent squalor

of its red and lacy lungs.

They are cows. We are pigs.

Who will wooley the swift

and darn the strange sockling?

Pierre Bismuth.

If only someone would make a fist of their head

to paper the bulb.

Let it be Rainbow Sun Francks.

The Death of Paola Mori

The wending tale of Igor's campaign
had been over but a year
and here the strange twins are seen
attempting to stuff their pockets with peppercorns
as the rotund pepperpot expends its final gyre
with a chime
for there are catholic aristocrats
and catholic aristocrats
and they are often quite different things
and what of it
children are everywhere
groping cameras before their beloved chimeras
hulks of rock made bewildering shadows

now of course
this poem
isn't about a canary
but poetry
Rosebud O Rosebud
Bice di Folco Portinari
who of course conveys
the secret meaning that you play
the banker father and the banker mother
the swerve or dive
amid the gamboling lucre

some say the gold that reigns
remains transcendent
while others
say nothing
and still others mumble on
messy Mori Bice Maurice Bessy memento

Et in Arcadia ego
the promising spoor
a little blackberry
the sweet darkness
a cloying obscuritas

UNUOMO A META

The gigantes and cabezudos 

are beyond the shadow of a doubt

which takes the form 

of a pseudoepigraphical letter 

a spiral aitch key

supposedly stretching 

from Aristotle to Alexander the Great 

during his campaigns 

in Seleucid Persia.

Aristotle

like the Virgin Mary

stands upright sleeping

in every penguin

that surrounds the offering of flowers

to the universal living hospital

a single complex form

with fire inside

made of wet people

touching sharks

with their violins.

In the Valle de Hecho

snakes rummage

through hiss-queered herbs

the long story of tea in their teeth

is Pontius Pilate,

every head is a match struck coinage

in Zaragoza.

A tight sleep

as between two walls

turns to fabla

the Secretum Secretorum

of Roger Bacon's

cheeky quokedy

the cheekedy cathectody

the split key threnody

in which the shoof penguin

uses a rabbet plane

to gut the cooves of the colliseum 

for the Audis to fill

when they Bailey and Bedrock

and hold the blade down firmly 

to the body of the plane

the actor

the active agent which is itself

hallucinating.