:::::Her legs
were like features
of an ancient rainbow sun-place
someplace below where it oughta be
spelling it out, bees and rainbows
(your stems were
features of a desert landscape)
regard a man
replete with youth, all his cards in his hands,
splayed out like so, with a girl, receiving fellatio.
He has the sweet vine of the world.
God’s redolent head rains down on him
pure sunshine of the oceanic dream
and everything was chloroformed
a neat tremendous nightmare
nobody remembers
regard a man
sitting on his couch
feeling groovy,
wearing a fedora
<>
Julia’s trite poem: “The Hat. The old hat / was very sad. / It held his head / like a box of lead.”
<>
Scrawled genius
glorious corollary empties whole jars of coal:
everybody believes everything you’ve ever said.:::::
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment