HOW AWESOME THAT YOU SPOKE
INSIDE OF THE LAMB AND
THEN SMOOTHED THE CHILDREN AWAY
The voice is meant to be heard
and read then condoned
to be prairie-fitted in
puffy sleeves along the
watering can by the
already open gate
The world trotting through the
spoon you hold up your
reflection
The biggest bubble lifted-up
with a wire-bent-heart a
seal of approval a lesson
to dismiss the bog from
the land that grows inside of
your person after you’ve
occupied so much time
your hermit had hidden in
land under the spoon
facing the occupation
tied under the war in a yellow ribbon
Thrown over the edge
with concrete blocks
tying-up its contents
judge the expulsion that’s
left penalized drug offenders
on the fly-tape
The time the entire village
was killed this way
in the Romanian shed
under bitter remorse
festered through the old-crag’s
knees spun into a bucket
The widower even flew a
child’s fox into the can
stuffed from the outside
makes the insides even
longer until poison
explodes yellow inside
your chest until the
crimson necktie cuts
off the water flu swung
around the building
patience come up for air
under the water that pollutes
your thinking
If the noise were a stout
removed from its brass chemistry
would the sculpture absorb the
profile of its inventor?
Does blinking come in the form of a wave enveloping darkness?
Law’s movement elbowing through a crowd
corrupting the song sung inside day
outdoors where the thrills of cycling slide seaweed
through water and lift-up molecules of an adolescence synergy
Inside the backpack is a
vague spoiling a banana from its freshness
How repeated the maker of man’s minds are
How many billfolds hold-up the land?
Does the inventor come in the form of a prisoner and by the time the idea is
achieved the lungs get to get out?
The cage wrapped around
building notions forced its
invisibility to spread
genius through craft and the
maneuvered clumps in content
spread form through the frame
and stung the rational man into
a state of feeling
If there’s only one thing left to say it’s already been said
Try growing a gasp in the form of a glass zebra
Try making a zee appear everywhere in its language
If inside of a hand is a
commotion and a chemical
lab breaking the city apart
then how underneath the
bricks are spiders achieving homes
how webbed infantilism breathes less
taking up less oxygen than the trees saw fit
A birth diploma fluttering akin to the moon
Could liability be birthed through a window and spread fictitiously atop a copy?
Does a simulation have feet to crawl legacy through ages
if the post-script came any later would the rumor be in trouble?
And if/when the rumor does relax its blouse to the gales
does the fighting hand make its fist grow stronger?
No gentlemen
No
So sorry to have tried to have hung the window in the middle of the sky allowing
airplanes to pass through its mere invisibility
if the band reached any further across the landscape the entire window may come
crashing down and horses would limp involuntarily across a field
and a crocheted cupid’s arrow on fire would scoot into the horse’s stool
The planet needs to relax
The prisoners need to be let out
The whole dichotomy will collapse soggy
And when the subtlety of a foundation contorts
it makes building bridges less stable because
the land bunches up under the steel leg and pushes its math into the horizon
And you know the horizon is far away from where you stand and the image of its
belittled shadow running into the sand is controversial
its ugly cardboard cut-out body pressed against space
How humorless the mountain filled with pudding pouring the Saints out
How much mirth grows inside of the tongue talked across the table giving the love into the
pocket that the pen should hold and your stoic vase filled with moths
How the abundance is images onto images on top of images
Compiling a scissor trot when you wrap your legs around the bearded earth |
