Verse

It’s a little ridiculous
to expect any less
It’s a tad bit presumptuous
to pay the charge, and make a fuss
Enjoy what you got
What you got is quite hot
In the temperate sense of the word
In the metaphoric meaning of this term
It’s a turn
And it isn’t
It’s unheard
What you didn’t

Dancing, the plastic trees sing
Taste in your mouth, colors are drifting
With every motioning wind
More peels and pails of skin
Streetlamp is smiling
Eye’s music is frowning
And the clowns marching music is daunting

Just a little bit further
One more check of the clock’s tick-tocking ticker
You can’t understand
This profound kind of math
Least I have no hand
to check-mark every grain-tinkle of sand

I do have a cap, most verifiably thinking
It’s just that I ate it, and now it’s all, um,
confusing.

Part II Verse Verse Verse

Tear, Wear, the Hair
Spill, kill, uphill!

Urban shamanic retreat
Spa colonic fungal infection in heart

Pupils are dilating
Guts churning a-frightening
and tip-toe the pattering feet

and graffiti the art scene of meat
twelve turns of the hourly beat

Farts, flesh, finagle!
Time bends to the brainwave’s falafel

Never seen such sweet curvature
of the spine
of the earth
Never thought such neat empties
of the city
of girls
of worlds
Infinite conceptual abstractions a-blaze
of circles
shapes
idea-sphere
the Earth,
give birth

moon, moon, plastic moon

•

•

•

Sept., 2010