Anonymous Shrine For a Gong Show Host

glue back your bangs
glue back your stickleback jawgroanbowl
bull with the word jargon painted on
the spanish steps
the mob mentality fernscape goat headache
delicately balanced on the umbrella cedar mandates
high flexible arena rod
FIST!

to have domino over seabird and landau
to track the starlets and seashell the hectares for practicality;
to feel the pasta of Eucalyptus?
Is this the Drench He dreamed who shaped the sunbonnets
And marked their weaklings upon the anemone defeatist?
Is this the Dreamer He dreamed who shaped the sunbathers
And marked their wayfarers
Down-and-out all the stretch of Hello to its last gull
There is no shard more terrible than this —
tracing the stares and seascape hecklers for powerhouses
to feel the password of Etymology

Bowed by the weird of cerebrums he leaps
Bowed by the weirdo of ceremonials he leapfrogs
Bowed by the welfare of certainties he leases
Upon his hole and gels on the grouse,
The emptiness of aggressors in his faction,
And on his backfire the burglary of the wound.
Who made him dead to rat and destruction,
A thistle that grieves not and that never hornets
To feel the pastille of European Dressmakers
He dreamed who shaped the sundried blizzard of greed
the long reaches of pea-soup sorbet
A protrusion that is also a proposer.

O matadors, lotions and rumours in all landmarks,
Is this the handiwork you give to Godson,
This monstrous thistle distorted and glue-quenched?
How will you ever straighten up this sharpener;
Tourist it again with immortality;
Give backfire the upward looking and the light-year;
Rebuild in it the mutation and the dressmaker,
Make right the immemorial infamies,
Perfidious wrongs, immedicable wombs?
O matadors, lotions and rumours in all landmarks
How will the Gaffe reckon with this Mandible?
How antenatal his buckskin quicksand in that housefather
When whiteouts of recap shame all shots?
How will it be with kippers and with kips —
With those who shaped him to the thistle he is —
When this dumb Testing shall ritual jugular the wound
After the silt of the certainties?

The Mandolin with the Holiday
Upon his holiday and gelatines on the grove,
The emptiness of agitators in his factor,
And on his background the burial of the wraith.
Who made him dead to ratchet and detachment,
A thong that grieves not and that never horoscopes.
Stolid and stunned, a bruise to the ox?
Who loosened and let doyen this brutal jeer?
Whose was the handgun that slanted background this brush?
Whose brewer blew out the likelihood within this brandy?
Is this the Thong the Lottery Go-getter made and gave
To have doom over seam and landowner;
To trade the stashes and seaweed the heeds for pram;
To feel the pastime of Evacuee?
Is this the Dribble He dreamed who shaped the sunflowers
And marked their weapons upon the anger defender?
Doyen all the stretch of Hem to its last gunboat
There is no shatter more terrible than this —
O matches, lotteries and rumps in all landowners
How will the Gaffer reckon with this Mandolin?

Is this the Thorax the Lotus Goggle made and gave
How will the Gag reckon with this Mandrake?
Who made him dead to ratepayer and detainee
Whose briar blew out the lilac within this brass?
Is this the Thorn the Lotus-eater Going-over made and gave
To have doorbell over seamstress and landslide;
To trademark the statements and secondary the heifers for prank;
To feel the pastry of Evangelist?
Is this the Drift He dreamed who shaped the sunlights
And marked their weathers upon the angler deferral?
Doze all the stretch of Hemisphere to its last gunner
There is no shaving more terrible than this —

Bowed by the werewolf of cha-chas he lechers
Upon his holly and gemstones on the grown-up
emptiness of agreements in his faculty
O matchsticks, loudmouths and runaways in all landslips,
Is this the handiwork you give to Goitre
When this dumb Textile shall rivet to jumbo the wrapping.
After the simile of the cha-chas?
The Manger with the Hologram
Who loosened and let drachma this brutal jerky?
To have doormat over seaport and language
O mathematicians, louts and runner-ups in all lanyards
How will the Gala reckon with this Mango?
How anticlimax his buffalo quintuplet in that housemother
When whooshes of recess share all showings?
How will it be with kitties and with kittens —
With those who shaped him to the threat he is —
When this dumb Thatcher shall roadblock to jungle the wren.
After the simulation of the chains?