a briar rose city amid the horses bones

hoof shoof hoof

told no tails to

the watery beings whose

woose thoose to

inhabited the raku-

fired earring cities

their wonderful clothes

like al dente scented

opera pasta pale

purple pasta buckles

to hold a gelatin general

of singing and miniature

slug telephone people

delicately clothed

in scented pasta

you could build an alpine arch

from the dangling sunshine of an earlobe

you could found a dynasty

in the creamy erotics of a paste

why is there no sensitivity to materials

and grace in the construction

of the brutal iron bead cities

each bead a prison city

which hangs from its own

mustache braid

around the terrible maw

the terrible worthless maw

of the mumbling

horrendous

omen

of the possibilities

of the wonders

of intelligence

a hoof for the sparkle

of vision

a warm golden handle

finding an orphan

to comfort

in the endless

damnations

of blindness

here i saw a crane glide through

a complicated archway

of sculpted moon paste webbing