i will rub the liniment of self-made into my soul or else i get the hose again

coral and porous
i walk spotless through anemones
and crystalline sea floor forests

allergic to tree ***** and tiny green armies of self-propagating space dust

inimitably flippant
bourgeoisie teetotalling kommandant
gone in a puff of turmeric
lifted to the world of spirits like a vestibule on a scissor-lift