10 Nov 2008

Nostril To Mars, A Therein

Ghosts the leg of living yellows--A coil of
soldier the plot bridges like whispered meat--
You are impossibly eight, an everything's adage
prepared to shadow animal need--Quartz whorls
this way as a communist ideogram--A Tantric
finger is the key of deformation to silver
fruit--Marooned halo cleavage has indigo--
Jazz molecules today's nautical, but forever
uterine, a five-dollar breast paid to the
lunar yelp--Odes to stay lemon and faceless
postmodernism's sweetest candy--Or cusp
the lip of stars extruding my stomach--
Telephones the eye, trellis ignition--My
literary sense of hygiene spares no shrapnel--
Dazzling nights of ulterior ribcage!

2 comments:

C.J.Duffy said...

Glorious. The madcap laughs (again)

doriandra said...

the man at my desk looked over and says,,,wrenching out the rib heads..