Tuesday, March 22, 2016

a candle for peplum red plum (gladiatorgium)

bondage gladiator sexy
tidepool romantic fodder

soft gladiator
soft jelly-like gladiator
melting near the wind machine

which lifts the pink bacchante women's
seed sofa negligees

and reveals the green loop in her hair
is holding up her dress

the main gladiator left standing
has a broad bright hard collar
with stylized cannabis leaves

but soon he melts
bondage gladiator sexy
low spark of high-heeled goy

underage bustier tidepool
for the soft remedia remains
I put you tank
you put me holy

to laces

trenches form for soldier
in the shape of a biscuit
achmed achmed
doobie brisket moon wolf

majestic white minotaur is crowned
pierced dewlap dangling
soft gladiator bacchantes

gladiator women battle
at the center
of minotaur negligee stadium
seed sofa
giving birth

to laces

the black hat in praise of more

two perfectly innocent and joyful
dim kid goats
play brightly along the bottom
of the long dry moat
under the ruined splendor
of a mostly forgotten
gothic castle

these frolic highly
wan highly lilting lyrical
ovid pandora gondola spider
ineffable barrel vaulted chest
of the woman before that red sky
where tresses are made grilles
and unicorns appear
as pressed and crisp
as calligraphy

silken neurons
and neuroglia
tempt the silken rogues
whose deep 3d picture box world
is flatter than a hatter
in numbers stranger than a lark
watching two
perfectly innocent and joyful
dim kid goats

the basic reader
like a gothic hive
performs a rustic duty
exploring the wandering paths
around the mostly
forgotten castle's
throbbing hermit swarm

odd plates to echo
soft lapidary disorder
which might as well mean
soft lapidary order
and the cluniac kafka said Lof der Zotheid
the flying of zoo teeth
lofty beauty (flying meat)
and the flying meat's outline
a thump thumb bluing itself
under the mood of the purple storm

Delphic Posterior

infinitely peddle art junk
infinitely pedal
infinitely petaled heartsunk
heatsink mindwrath blowhole

exquisitely peddle art junk
exquisitely pedal
exquisitely petaled hearth skunk
might finally enter the geode
of sultan crushed bicycle
axe eugene careful

mindless sun of nude dancing
mindless burning
mindless molecular discourse
of sacral dust inversion trope

sacred meaninglessness
sacred ambiguity

the structural integrity
the continuity of matter's fundamental
inability to actually
mean anything
other than itself

lab lum
eternal confrontational yoga
of yonigate

glass poo

banana-foot heart-throb
where forth art thou O
in the screel or
in the peenhoff
nay but
in the peelhoof
chimpanzee display
yellowed sprightly
as with pegged daisies
whose isles are drawn closed
as hearth shaped windows
whose internal organs
are cameo hades
green banana horses
freckled with green butterflies
whose wings bear
tiny pitchfork emblems
natural inalienable holograms

artificial intelligence (green way)

symbol 37 go
und sur tan ek grow
clus tooth ah boon
one owns what one owns carries swan
the heavy swan breaks back broke
ignited cone
swallow darting
maw geld

submerged in earth
its rickety paper stick puppet opera begin
to feather a smooth metallic machine poem
sealed surface
cataract of the performative imp lever
pully-baroqued in layman angel herd equation
subsection unconscious
and wiley

space hoof eye sore spell
the dice in ocean capsid caesar marsupial pause
to gleet the pet now tired
after singing up the new living sun
the stronger parent awaking in bits
the old sick child womb
takes to the museum
entering into its permanent ritual
of feigned senility

lipscombite okónhsa

place distinction cavalcade
when hologram that writing spreads
lives across the viral horizon's oblate
portal pumping lemma (wheech-->
grapes hang on ether's side
from the browhooks that illumine
the fountain in a box

pass the gifting wheel
when extension's tongue banderoles
present their lists
to the fans of knights
let each clinching clap breeze
the jousting gaze encajan

these days hold their people close
to the chest that waits
on the lady in waiting
the lake so placid
the scored scorn whose sword
seals each wise psychological
insult okänd

a garden may reform
upon the rugged terrain
the half buried monk of wonder
mutters to the tangle of birds
whose abstracted and connected shapes
render their deformity to music

a great and singular horn
resonates to the awkward centering
that place energy shape and heft
will cleft by data
burning beyond its unknown twin
balloon horns

are ritually displayed by the floating victim
whose tragic victory
will journey to knowledge
its organs embellished by fetish
in the ornate binoculars
coveted by the priests of ambiguity
hinternally allied aligned illimned


it was a door
shaped as a fox foot
through which a snore
crept in red light
o'er the clover

clod is bong
more hallelujah
than kissing fish
fighting fish
if yes congeals

Ah, distinctly I remember
it was in the bleak December
And each separate dying member
drooled its wrought iron ghost
upon the floor

no, it was a door
the silken, sad, uncertain rustling
of the raven-feathered

'a shapely hovering hole'
Quoth the raven manticore
a shag now radiating
from the garden door

clod is bong
a light revered
inside  the lacy
pallid bust of Pallas

which sits above
my chamber door
rendered ever lovely
in ornamental corn

a lamp-satyr
in satire's urn

Gabriel Cornelius Ritter von Max

deep in the Zungenbecken
the cold lake
of the painter knight
dreamt of a solitary
melancholy monkey
who for three years now
had lived with an old woman
high in the ruined alpine castle
in her clever parasitic abode

by day
the tame creature
would sit on the rubbled parapet wall
out in the clear crisp open air
next to the enormous cold iron cannon
whose ragged damaged snout
reminded him of the Gletscherzunge
he could just glimpse
far up the winding snow-filled valley
receding toward the craggy peaks

and at night
he would come inside
to take soup with the old woman
by the fireplace
and gaze upon the painting
of the wetnurse he had known
in his youth
who fed him sweet fruit
and sometimes he would spit in the fire
to hear it sizzle

and sometimes he too would dream
but of a different girl
the lamp-seller
who passed her lit lamps
one by one
through a slit in the deep walls
while dark palm fronds
piled up across the creamy robe
that covered her naked feet

like the deep cold waters
of the Würmsee
covering Ludwig

this monkey still dreamed
of an ideal art critic
which like a lone leafless black tree
in the cold valley of snow
looked like a harried ghost
raising its arms in indignation
and which like a worm seer
hid and harbored
a thin branching vein
of molten ore
which sometimes leaked
leaving strange amorphous
spider coins
subsequently buried
in the orderly and constant

Sanchuniathon's Drawls

is the Ronald Syme Bluebird
which watches o'er the yard~
"So you're the nubba nubba!"
says the alien Bill Cosby
after being resurrected
three things are important
Tehom Ma'at and Stucky's so
the frog fart organ will kreloo
in the night and the hoppy fidgety
will blurt and cavort swimming ever outward
from the original wart
the word wart made spiny
with fetish stabbing forks
what is sublime indignity?
Is it Rodney Dangerfield playing Giordano Bruno
in an ABC late night movie shown inside
a toilet which like a crown was an actual
human accomplishment a
Ronald Syme Bluebird told us
that many of the later Emperors
after the Roman revolution
might do this or that for the public
give something take something away
all that was insignificant
all the people were brutes and
the core meaning of 'Emperor'
was always 'Bright Insane Murderer'
Think if whining devils all told Satan
they all needed something to be happy
in hell.. "So you're the nubba nubba!"
You'd think he'd probably stand up
with his knife, but often there
just a little gas leaked out
and a krelooo a kreloo kreloooo
of the frog fart organ
volcanoes are like that too
from the air just a fart-like Satan
a lovely little cardinal on a high wire
inspecting something it can't possibly
understand in all its fullness
but it could know
that egos
are muffy socks
in a frog fart safe
with a triple tumblr sundial
why are there no 40 foot high statues
of little red cardinals?

reality television

it was an age of douchebags
yet still the hopeful
looked expectantly to see
if grace lived in the heart of the universe
instead of realizing
that grace is a blind nictitating dance
of rabid mouthparts flinging foam statues
into the shifting razor-like loom of skeins
grace is the music from
rows of spectral and beautiful
lavender jade lutes to be
played by the erotized groin and belly legs
of a headless schitzocentipedal ourobouros
whose bent ambient anisotopy
is not so much the sparkle in our eyes
as the dull gleaming bluntness
of a polished lyrical and unceasing joining
of one thing to another
without worry of their joining
for grace is the fullest promiscuity
fully unveiling itself in the negative
and in the positive until those
differences are made more meaningful
and more useless less meaningful
and more useful
a douchebag is nothing but a builder
in a sea of builders
when building might also be thought of
as destroying
grace is the heavy weight that tells us
there is no difference in difference
that the blunt promiscuous joining
is a hell-like heaven
a heaven-like hell
and that reality's whole circumference
is some description of a weirdness
come out of the dark bleak mouth
of ourselves and then reswallowed
for all is reswallowed
poet or douchebag
queen, president or brother
squirrel, or pale rainbow dewdrop