Bantering with Octagons

the leaves of grass cut to the quick
like a pentecostal moan
grind the glass til it's strong and thick
like a contrapuntal groan

fields of thorn lie fallow and gold
plant your pistols six feet deep
tomorrow's storms won't leave you cold
while all your yesterdays sleep
 
The sleep of yesterday is but a memory undreamed of,
A slumber womb-enclosed, silent
then Chopin, tinkles on taught wires, soft pedalled notes
Arousing pianissimo a sanguine smile
even embryos can dance a fluid twist
and noose the neck, cervical tense
which mid-wife swift and finger fast unravel
That sleep of yesterday is but a memory.
 
Sanguine, Saturnine and Twat
A truly unruly lot
They chase after injury
And subjugate inquiry
Savory creatures they're not
 
Savoury bites the lip and tounge with ingrowing toenails and masts aglow on the horizon of the buttockmilk and dappled chorus chilled adhesions and cries in torment, "Eucalyptus est!"
 
due to unforeseen circumstance
the monkey playing Rosencrantz
keeps forgetting how to advance
the unseen cogs of circumstance
so Guildenstern can't join the dance
and instead turns to games of chance
that lack in charm and elegance
and oft cost him his fav'rite pants
 
when the monkey flies
dorothy cries
and lion is carried aloft

water water everywhere
care for a sip?
melt me, please


monkey monkey dance
monkey monkey dance dance
monkey monkey dance dance dance
 
The monkey dances in the middle of nowhere surround by endless fields disagreeable Chopin impersonators hunting for their lost Steinways.
 
The orang utan harvest fills endless fields - a genetically modified crop of hairy oranges playing barrel organs with pouting lips. Princesses dance for D'Arcys, prejudiced and proud.
 
Manufactured dreams from the factory where the engineered monkeys put their hands in the dead fish water for eight hours straight.

I bought one yesterday for two dollars and fifteen cents..

To sense plane, please for another dollah.
 
rose waterfall in a valley of honeysuckle
tiny path wanders along the stream
side pool smells of dead fish water
lovely place to drink


floating naked in a pool in the sun
alone in the universe
nipples stiffen
as a light breeze slides across my skin
 
silver water injecting air within
a crystal pool so black and cold
clear bubbles that tickle the bone white skin
of the oldest trout in the world

for a trout it is a beautiful home
he never could ask for better
plenty of insects and plenty of foam
and the cold water couldn't be wetter

do you think he's content, this pink eyed fish
master of all that he surveys?
or does he perhaps sometimes pine and wish
for more rich and fulfulling days?
 
trout fishing in america
in watermelon sugar, too

he'd like this place, i think

esoteric spinsters of fogotten words
like songs misplaced
in a kitchen drawer
 
peeping tomahawks gather
under a pistol gray sky
pitter patter leather lather
a mummified lullaby
 
Mummified Lullabies and green fist made of tomato juice have taken over the printer and has written a book about every single one of us. Please don't be alarmed, that isn't a real artificial Bananna; it's a gun! A really neato gee-golly great gun too; this gun only kills people who shove sharp objects up their ass and... and... why do you look so nervous?
 
china skin tinged yellow-gold
smooth and warm and sensuous
small breasts
pretty smile
we could make love, she and i
 
The trout stumbles across honeysuckle sense and discovers he is just a mask, a replica. He begins to dance sensuously while singing a watermelon lullabuy. Immediately a blimp falls on his head.
 
honeysuckle derriere
analgesic dreams
chalcedony faerie air
nothing's as it seems

water crescent icicle
fallopian tunes
opalescent bicycle
incandescent runes

salmonella flatulence
tetrahedral sponge
suppurating opulence
a staggering lunge
 
methane clouds
scent tainted with feces
cows gotta let em rip too, i suppose

flames rise in a mushroom explosion
thunder rolls across the plains
from sixty thousand simultaneous beef farts
and one lightning strike, exquisitely timed
 
wild mushroom mustard gas olive bats in bubbling vats cravats internal spats on cats of flocks of fox in bulbous cocks feather flotsam wet sand jetsam left and sweats on toast and roast em full on tortion portions a notion for fulsome potions fornicating mormons momentous abortions fulminating perdition of ditches with twitching witches nothing but the furling girl bands on the swirling pearl bands upside down backwards counting uptown mounting gash and gnash dine and dash cream the clot and swill the snot fooling to forget the lofty mangle with the mango and the guava is mauve like a vulva in bloom with sparkling streams in mountain fountains close your eyes and think of egg land england in the summer no birds no birds no birds it's my drum it's my hold it now it's my rhyme thyme parsley partially over and out
 
closed eyes against the agonies
memories rise unbidden
pain
pain
pain
pain
pain

some think it's a joke
others a freedom
but it's only
pain
 
The scourge, the cross, the dead son
Mary's pain, King of the Jews,
Hammas. Dusty blood, dog licked, cobalt stench and chuckling crows scavanging for carnal morsels non-parametricly distributed on pebbled trees, leafless, lifeless wood. Void.
 
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