unlike that afterall

you seee
said the spasming face
it’s all there, wrapped in fish or dancing some paper jig
flavors like stars

twice upon a time,
that’s a truer thing

hirsute… heh.
sometimes words just bubble up
from where?
halcyon brains of yore.

leaning towards filching some
drugged on berries
eating fifty ones
watching that sugar halo raze

have some whatzit, sugar,
darling, goombaloo

there’s so many edges of things
there’s nothing but edges
spinning their sharpening gyres

and till one step’s been taken off
this old hat will sit, here, on
nothing’s so vital as a spot o’ blood
keep that stuff inside!

it’s been two many days since cleaning up
and playing outside’s become some kind of
a degenerate one at that.

creep, you silen wonderfurl

oh, creep, you sylken wunderfyrl,
oh, cry, you crympen monkeywrench
spinstrel out the best-lad plans,
crimp the ninny-hammers
this one’s got shivers for eyes
or that’s just the labrats talking
veering into gallimauphric rants

graven, that host steps past,
a dish of dappled horror
a pudding of mastered fear
unlike the best-of-times, we spoke
this one slinkeyed round the stair
til night just fell into the grave
the rose sunned outward from the fall
burnt crisp in radioactive hum

hymm to some dammed conqueror
fill that cup with all the cups of mirth
when dancing past the harbormaster
tight stalkings eye the lorn folk
lip-stains crease the lettered mulch
and all past reams rip the sigh
treating grains like steams of earth

origamally yours, that frog folds past
squatting like a loathesome heart
some babboon or turkey thing
fill these gracken maunderings
while word-heaps stack to sky
veering to and fro, to fall?
shall we cry timber! or wait too long?

inside that ventricle (the left one)
the bloodstuff keeps pumping through
all’s gowned, that’s the ticket
while cheap fingers flex their hold
watch those tattered digits fail
six and three and one
hope to heaven no soul’s gone

flashy tricks, flaming hats and doves
rotten fruit and battened hatches
derive sweet justice from a scamp
to traipse about the place, wearing glee
only to find, sans monkey,
the heapen crowd has eyes that watch,
that see the secret foldings of the hand

only this one sings the guilt of wonder
fallen into some great stare
jump, jack, and don’t look now
you’re not going to like this, mr.
the secret howl breaks out
shattering wineglasses and cryptic walls
bursting out the seams of air
(only in a dream…wake to silence)

record’s skipping tracks, cutting out
that same dammed place every time
who’s lifting the needle this time?
what shraven burst of feathers here?
and why’d that camera flickerflash?
you know: only a small courage gleams
it’s not worth the soup to spill