veristic bust of global lungs

there is a thin almost ancient moment
when the ambiguous garden space near the alley
becomes a wild ancient shrine sawn
fragmentarry amphi-theater or rather
a put to the slipcover

what is the local pillow
to the council of grand pillars
which holds up the sky

one considers a small herm
of painted broken concrete amid the
shaved back presence
of the concatenation of invasive species
that are allowed to thrive in pure
natural 'nagualic' congeries

nero without a nose
is invaded by susan b anthony
ringed in wild garlic
or possibly the wise and ancient
raccoon woman of sugarloaf
weeds of naobis muddiate surely
there are strobing larva machines
that speak in drifting hydroglyph flowers
whose pollen is cups
or craft
confusion coos in drifts
emptied of space

when the animals
are wed to excess in their form
could-it-cong-bend-beg-co-cudd-coo-lo?
how is there anything in the alley
but excess? no question.
galley yokes romantic wilderness somehow
perhaps with an ironic pewter object
kept in a felt pouch
around its long jointed neck
skids deep
honeysuckle wends a warped brow
for silence enacts its scence

deep valley of stars
deep valley
of starfish donkey people
muling on the long dark trail
into mystery

starfish donkeys
with luminous groucho
borracho nostril tentacles
which finger the tender pebbles
of the winding
singular trail

fetu pogisa
and felt with a perverse
undying love
for all things
it's a heap
we carry together


https://www.facebook.com/lanny.quarles/posts/2447959532098672