Thursday, January 11, 2018

mogari no miya

wagon chemistry
the microphone knows
what my koto knows
the menus are noise sheets

she is rash in her meshes but stable
the harrowing banyan knows
in totally ceramic toes
mucho bazooka nose
we totally wash chemistry

i can ease into sauciness
where the high water terrans
redo their nubile tamarinds
they address the waters
with special cucumbers

they make raku karate figures
oceans of them
masquerading as words

yes it is a mishmash
a wagon of chemistry
and to take these karate terrans
will reduce the high of my microphone
until it becomes

communal snakes
of camouflaged beast foot shakes
my vomit performs like a kite
pulling a cormorant in a rickshaw
whose watoosie knows no death
because it makes tattles

yams may become wheels
for my wagon
in a sick ocean
and i cane its nauseam
with a high water tornado
until it passes
beneath the torii of sake'
as a co-mash
of your sorry
prince rebus

my disgusting fur
lays akimbo in a futuristic hat
in the shine of the ocean's neighborhood
and there on the sesame table will open
to become a squishy mote

i did not know
that a fedora could become a table
that may crawl like a worm
in a bikini

i did not moan
when they served me ramen
with yams

i was accused of caring
for the spider-faced medusa mummy
whose sugary chemistry
had led to kosher tatami mats

he knew cash
was snake kabuki
he knew the rooted rocks
and tangled trees
were a soaring bird
of softly gleaming jewels
wagging their foot nests

at the irrational
and beautiful yoga masters
who slept together
to become a symbol

a symbol cut into the grass
in distant fields
drenched with the dew of dawn

each dew drop
an alien life enthusiast
with politically questionable
behavior patterns

that my microphone screamed at
in the form
of a tussling forest

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