Catapulted                      sub-genre painters,
                        'the boys--the dogs of war
                                    no one knows about'
    shot across                   opposite tobacco oceans,
                                         eaten by Helicoprions,
                                                               a B-rated villain.
Otherwise these teeth whips
                are starved by peanut-hull boats

                                    --the artists barely make impact--

         Hungry drip paths,
         bright stars stare back
         with teeth like oak chairs.

                  Happy children,
       always happy children
                   run with kites on orange-sprayed blades of grass.
                          They trip
        --forms of dice against doorknobs.

                           The eternal squares before the yellow canaries
                           are so fast
                           they crest the eagle's head
                           atop the totem pole.

            Mad ******* cry, as Alice commanded, about the death of all oral tales
                         --enraged laborous *** laughing
                                   at what we do.

A wish like a whiff
The assertion of bone
A face like a cliff
Hollowed out, cut from stone

Cheeks reddend by rust
Eyes dampened by rain
As the layers of dust
Settle, hide the world's' pain

A wish like a whiff
The assertion of bone
Sing Sorrow a riff
You might feel less alone

So soon my body will have gone
   Beyond the sound and sight of men,
And tho’ it wakes and suffers now,
   Its sleep will be unbroken then;
But oh, my frail immortal soul
   That will not sleep forevermore,
A leaf borne onward by the blast,
   A wave that never finds the shore.