this one’s come undone.,
his trousers blown about in the wind.
feel that scurrilous ticklegroan.
oh me oh my
cramped into some little old little me box
feeling that muschhhle ache
where’s the glistening, no, fey
corpus cormeticum or somedamnthing
book or wordphrase to conjure with
(whoop-ah! watch the hands/don’t watch the hands!
feel my eyes drag your eyes away,
while deft little fingers replace one thing with t’other:
meantime, here’s the graggerman, come to grab the grag.
put it in the graggerbag and sleng it on yer shudder.
until tomorrow, i wasn’t even there.
feel the burn (grammatical) as the pointofview
flipflopflaps between you and me and one and his
[what pour self is hid in that strange box?
the mystery box with the sick inside
or maybe the punching bag, o’erflown with dust withal]
and even now, wa?
all the bait is swirling in the water:
protecting no one self, but keeping that groop
solid swiffing in the water.
underthere’s just nothing much
disappointment, filthy monsoons clawing out
even one cold slap
keening out of some pain or dandelion
might not shock one out of time
might not flip the underbelly out
expose that pestilential core
to all the silly world [stop]
did i say silly [stop]
there’s a word [stop] lost it’s meaning [stop]
all the world’s words [stop]
find their meaning slip away [stop]
there’s an infamous particle of faith that scratches and stretches out, concluding something special that most would rather, were the conclusions contrariwise drawn in crayon, stomp upon or growl out into some night-time corruscade. and all the spell-checks in the world can’t save this one, can’t keep strange words like galumph or happapap from sneaking through the dumbwaiter. even some bed-ridden hag wouldn’t stand for that on toast! scrape it off and pour it in the trestle. or the pestle. or the pistle on the whistle.
and so, la.