Weeping I saw gold and could not drink
In the most poetic village with the bonny maid part dancer and part pure chemistry is my simple hallucination:
I tremble toward a mosque, an unseen place—or is that me—I am the drummer boy in a band of angels. They take their tea, naturally, in the trees, where fronds drip milk and the sweet sugar sap.
They are monsters. They are mysteries. One injection from the three-ringers would make… well, that has not happened.
Puss in Boots explains the logic, but I don't understand his sophistry.
This is a sacred disorder of the spirit. Idling but quavering slightly from fever.
Happiness in beets, in chenille. The limbs of babies and virgins.
My cataracts are grinning. Here I say farewell and tender the spectacles of romance.
May it come, may it come,
The time we will fall in love with.
Give me five kisses
It's dissolved in flax, the straw in the vendor's cart
under the guns and eggplants
on the verge of this brutal
fin in the weave, boutique
that wreckage you call aorta move where
the flappers show their lacy underthings in flight
to. Pull yourself up hose abandoned
toes boxed offered in fire
to the god of fire.
General, lay your pellets aside, the ruined goose
shits feathery missiles on mother earth. The glacial
time and terror of, his gaping grin lopsided
ice only the mirror above the bar. The fishshop
in the village. The gargoyles do breath
rusting aspirations. The ruby of his temple
I trot to the school for tambourine instruction all the fronds buzzing before me and aft a franchise, darling, for the saloon for the milk and from the lake these monsters named: Mysterie 1. Mysterie 2. Innoculation against vaudevillians' pout. Enviable smoking
dying drying embers kippers and toast the hair from the chin of the mountain goat the softest tapers the bedspread slightly damp covers the supper table.
the harpy's cage or for us
she is nighttime sky-
bound cervical cap
on dreams only
in this language I pretended
I was from another country
so my foreignness was forgivable
fuck under the tented covers it's comforting
and now you've had one child you're roomy
pretend (she said) my crotch is the cow's barn
he wrote: the trout moon
to hell with similitude and its stinky aroma
vegetable eludes the best of use mineral wisdom
as his teeth calcify clarify the salty channels tributary
heart and brain was it mouse pee or embryo cell
the steadfast cure the quickest way.
Two ivory women by a milky sea
but what we heard
palpation the skin
his heart uplifted who wants
Mud dredged chains the heart
gone swamping for the voice
Tinker box tinder switch
fancy feet to flame a small one
nips at her poor joan her dress ash
Transfixed the idea of the weavers
ugliest ladies you haven't seen
flat of the blade pull the thread through