Tuesday, December 29, 2020

a logic of running

lord haunting greensleeves
some of this is unconscious but
the aristocracy of natural form
involves us all  / every
stone or dark sea shepherd's 
beetle grass the dumb
blank eyes of ivory camera toads
lady piano quarry the wards
of incan ireland whose
chaosophy knew a sailor
whose grand helmet of black smokers
sewed an onion of any shape
swaps they aren't much
concerned w/ tribal conversations
among the innocent gold
which bleat there in the myths
fog a tern [excitement] 
among the dolphins
joy of the smelling dew
their internal structures were
loosening to the stitched up
horses coming over the bridge
tatooed with barnacles
of the various light-bled 
sponges of ignorances
this sacred goalie
to the court of bliss
its jersey and its tooth emblem
of the mind today
and for all its yesterdays
the plans of moles
toward bacterial 
cigarette antennae
weep tea
in the limousine wasp
your software counters skewed
to critical transitions
the knees of noon sang
vociferously of these saviors
the loricifera
we haven't a clue who i am
whispered the acritarchs
inside the bustles
of their green algae
or odes to the lacy bosom
of all that is known
of bosques in making sense there
to paralysis there
is no trivia when you are here
with the memory of angels
who store their laughter
among the micro-animals
there is no greater giant
than the small empty spaces
where dank hammers
hairy with glass
cement their problems
to the job
the plumb century
doubles its kabob helixed
skin witness towns
in maned anthems
of skinny rivers
glee cherie
is wood's sentimental
and confessing flies
each a feathered compass
weighted with tones
poor homely hoards
of machine-smashing machines
the dutch anemometer whips
our wind is blood
between the fences
built up in silence
by the gaspardly nummulites
whose creased hats later
would be naturalists
bent on the urban slang
of igneous birds
their feathered minotaur prawns
of daytime consciousness
have manners for all occasions
in rain we have our clothes
naked in the tuscan cypresses
and slipping out from 
between the millstones
little queens or emperors
thronging to the hush
still in the bud
like foreskin clipperships
afro-celtic in the bottle
crying out
do not look at me
bobbling and fumbling
among the hundred thousand
arms of lady janus-ghesus 
the anziotic hydra
its black beak a kissing stone
palling lyrically
to tropical palaeolatitudes
this aristocracy knows
by the sudden radiation 
of multicellular bioforms
uncertain unanswered
questions remain 
as muddy deposits on valley floors
a bounteous indigence
of indigenous pluromal blur
first and last peoples
of rock 
and contrast
to hover
the given reason

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Irrony Observes The Earthing.