hallucinating soup wheels garum

heaving hollow hoops of mind garum
to its lisp the showy idol blissed
its ceramic wheel interiors
with flat duochrome designs
of lost forever sea creatures
those that its lid neptune handlers called
these rondulure humbers

a lisp is careful in its
wellington rarebit console
and when the soup is boiled away
we find remaining a thin musculus
of bony traveler linked together
by the mystery of a nameless natural
substance

it fugues into the terracotta wheel vessels
whose frontal icon holes close to the hub
are decorated to look like eyes and through
which the children dangle their thighs
reaching deep with their feet into the cool seawater
until an octopus take hold and they pull it out
to hear its poem

an octopuses poetry is odd to us
for it always begins with the same phrase
"our nude galaxy"
and there are painted scenes inside the hub
they say

where the lisp
and the garum are foamed
into coins

and there is a dish like a shadow
and word lays just under the surface
pretending to be neptune
and a humber closes the flap of its mind
and pulls it up a thin musculus
and once it was a person
and it is a poem

a poem and a starfish
using only natural
and mysterious
adhesives
to buttress the unending
and universal console
splotch

a surface makes a ritual
around seeming to segment itself