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it is with some immensity that i,you,we
can say
this world is round -
it has licked threadbare footprints,
embossed hopes on the whispers of
time,
told us [when we bleed]
there are other roses a lighter shade of red
for at dusk this confident
apocalypse can be heard ( in the incantation of doves) :
we are the wound
and you,
our salt.
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dodging pinpricks of time,
the slosh of my thoughts
{in a bitter sepia jar and a constellation of harps:
to
andfro]
battering
a persecuted [sand,]
whisked
away atop (the
silhouetted page of) marigold
flagpoles: to drown an angel in the marmalade of cognition,
my riparian regret of
how
soon
the convalescing knowledge
of my heart was a dandelion.
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| transparentauctioneers hawk
springtime frying pans and bouquetsof laughter
holding court (A PASSIONATA)
+ realistically jeered butterballs hor[sing with1,]
as ourhearts bounded over lazy dogs and
ascended thrones: crowned jealousy before a harp, { accommodating the circumstance of course
that stars were errant malcontents and the moon a heartless cuckold }
|
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| let's plug into electrical
eye sockets ( ____)
of cannibalisticoranges and {apples} that fell into a
rotting barrel of bile, a rattling liver of
sharply incandescent piano dropping(s - dung beetles, of some
( pencil-necked railroad, to)
frantic smoldering flowers and ironhorses made of
[sac ] religious
demiurges that wrestle with clocks;
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| O where have you gone
O love?
i can still recall
your cock-eyed
rutabaga
lips lashing
myhands to our hourglass
bed posts
where [into me] you plunged
your filth-dripped umbrella
coated sweet word kisses
of a comatose,
test-tube
colored heart. |
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