the wavy sad echo basin doomed by a dribble glass

the wavy sad echo basin doomed by a dribble glass

clanging phages

the candle owl in plaid pants helmet

will never be worn on kitty hawk

unless fatimid wright flyers unearth

honeycombed helium cauldrons

with gourd horn handles

let orientalism be a new measure of

"do stop signs suffer lightly

human skinned elephants in hyderabad:"

who says we don't pray to mother gondwana

when our telescopic beetle obelisks

sample martini bread fort phosques

a little owl is charming

when it takes off its turban in vaudeville

leaving something of the same shape

in its place namely fresh spring 

feather snake weasel lovers

wearing only their owl in plaid pants 

candle-helmets

and their strap-on hooka masks

each with four minarets

and détourned coca-cola neon

woken asemically 

(out of step with the modern world)

to the dream of matter's insanity

you might find satin flea jesters

quilting themselves into classes

there is no psychology in matter

but the ones that we invent

from colloidal instability

tufa tea-set irises

whose horned hawk is this

staring intently at the luoxing pagoda

who is now a fishmonger woman

who forms her fishcakes

from the subtle lettrographic differences

between latin and the faun

who knew jaunty painted crab shells could house

so many different lengths of 

pan-pipe raw-stalk reflexivitease

you can imagine a sad bull has been changed into china

and all the shelves are full of people

trying to cataclivity 

the chagrinity gyres

of its chock-a-block dichroic

dragon checklist glass carburetor 

perfume puffing jaws

panthea coenobita is grown

to cover their luminous faces

noxious still sounds at least

like an owl headed fish wind sock kite

dusted with yeast

and gluon headcold menhirs

of zippery baby stars

what museum is really

a furry skeleton purse

when you know for instants

any fee says a see for totes

"i ate bulgogi on hambrick street"