droscony feldt

in the apocopated
earwax likeness
executed flashmop style
in the stain one finds
'little conspiracies' (mob-pomes)
drowned lovingly in the smell
its finality hirsute
jacked one eye punk tour
to which the cyclops replied
psyche in resonant
would gleam: 'no point'
and no converastion to conclusis
quotes but asp /mistake/
seethe the line upon cleopatra's breast
and then remark upon marcus antonius
thusly: wouldst a cave of demons
be more plantonic than a brane?

grow.
appressare bitáshtʼóózh

I have no ivory for your wetsill.
I have no latch of cross-hatch
for your lame path through
the sacred wood
whose map
is your only mask
only singularity known
and by which ignorance spread
unknown [governance]
how bright is knowledge
that it works its boar's head deeper
to the fumes
and gilds its wings
in britar (appalled by pauses)
for what is arisen on the horizon
this day is proud dog bull
canicula peep
from watery star jar

early on the mixture
grew its toil
and now a bastion it clings (lid-borne)
as the bastard wadstone hurtles on
cleaving its breath into more
and more (castigates)
ill-littoral primordia

ameuter beak
to commuter grazelle
fexistimo


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