what the mute fakir says to chemistry

the dew-sun's canines
enact a charactery halo
of ludic ortolan.

o sun of the ghost-yard's yurt,
your utopism's unsung sun
is a muddy tear, a very poetic
beer formed by the ague of lines.

(that any-sun which asks)

am i the achey kitten's
topology of yes-signs
with which the dew-sun
sears?

(and that which any-sun tells)

but this topology's fact tiki
is a varlot's djinn, an old dugong,
it's your old gun made new
which builds in the irritating ear
set to the rear.

so here we sear
the dew-sun's canines,
their serene tonsular
gaolers.


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