Thursday, November 15, 2007

astral wheel

Not signed from yer body of hearts & knaves such petulance is a lance re-regardin' the death of insouciance .a leather child sauntering to the corner of humming Away Away down south in Dixie Away Away and the pecadillo is the treatment
for serious majors in minors

but is major strong?
Is Major Strong?
is Death incumbent?
Is Strong Great and Major?
Is great necessarily Strong?
what is wrong with this capitalist fuzz?
it's the fuzz the fuzz somebody call the police
somebody call
call the fuzz

its the natural hair rinse in the moment
of its crude warning
against your chin

well I Don LunaTicTock charge with my Bed Post!
to salve the slave wounds of your stockings!
my dear lover dover!
I am Lord Bryon's beckon post!
shall a knee knock your shape?

Oh shapen monkey of mule!
and hexameters before the Prince of France
what the fuck do you know!
he spouted drinks coming from his head
some tease was waiting in the bathroom
her blooming teeth
her lips
her cococa coloured tint
swooned me breath
as bodies leapt stairs
tearing my glance apart!
after all these decades of cases
moods, gerunds, promises of pronouns
bitches of classes
rudes of wents
ignores of morbid
ignorant of morning
but my summer bathes were none too soon
bells a-ringing! a-ringing!
hear the hearkener!

Damn them forth those comments
paranormal elliptical sheets
rearward glaborous
glance to her ass
sideways to the three
quarter profile
and I walked her home
-Opath each & every night
a glad alligator of her tooth
and rye
some goodbye she was to Margaret of my name
silly wham of roses in her soft
pasted eyes
not a drag queen at all!
but a man in woman's clothes!
bearing her beard with tom tom repents!
relent! I cried I cried!

take yer dominatrix home
sp\are my tomb without organs
and the savory moonshine of
maiden aunts
some relations
've no relations
as I have worn her sleeve
in my puffed ways for centuries
I swashbuckle engineer

Here are my letters torn from Abyssinia from Haraar. I am the tooth that would not say goodbye.

Yes, yes! torn from my brave book of hell
let her go to hell
I am weary of these old wars of publishing
no one writes the way
so yer name is that is it?
well so, so be it.
we have a desert to complete
derelict of our dialect
frig duty!
cuss me lover
with lashed eyes
swept with naked frenzies