Jan 2018
Shawn mumbles in her sleep about cheerleaders and toilet slaves,
******* her wormhole at an ancient ambient wedding—
Edna in her seamed stockings disguised as a pinup,
Reciting short ****** prayers, her knickers down—
Exciting as ice cream there is only one flavor—
Shawn mumbling in her sleep & ******* her wormhole—
A mother’s ***** is sweeter than ice cream,
As exciting as ice cream, unforgettable as a perfect pearl
Her punctuated perspective; her ocean of body hair,
Her cat sculpted of ****** wood; her nurse’s degree,
My short radio fiction, Edna spanking Rabindraneth—
Lizzie and Marilyn walking in stilettos in the sand,
Her diamond encrusted bra straps,
Time traveling to the present January,
Ella eating out the blonde, not just any hippie
Her pearls glistening in the night, star struck in a world of wonder—showing herself to me and realizing my dreams in the vacuum of sleep her mother doing yoga with an *** the size of a watermelon as delicious as spring breezes off the brown river of her European charm, her restroom orthodox,
Plastic Japanese women listening to the Beatles,
It’s no crime that she’s heir to a philosophy that’s cool and calm—
Cheerleaders and toilet slaves know there is only one Paradise
But many Hells, one for each eye, her soul’s twin, Diana, and freedom—if you take one teenaged girl you have to take them all, teenage girls travel in sweeping swarms of Realism,
Old tongues aligned with their *******
Barbie’s Jewish roots wasted in Japan—
Swedish grandmothers weekend wives—
Tender Victorian feet of tomorrow thinking before they speak instinctively, the math subconscious, his ugly Lebanese sister’s boat my salvation—
Minimalism proving impractical in a Baroque Age—
We must choose our blue angels miraculously
Gorgeous Russian ****** in the underground—
Skinny blonde rednecks turned urban hipsters,
not just any blonde or infantile Japanese woman, a ******’s familiar face Russian rock and roll lover inevitably naked and insane Russian girls tasting like apples, Edna and Shawn partying on the beach with an Israeli girl;
Ella showing the Japanese girl to the toilet dreaming of crows,
Painting her four walls, showing ******’s sister strangled with her own pantyhose on film her deepest thoughts springing to hellish life—at the last minute she runs in and blows me a Cinderella kiss—
I live in the two worlds of her heart’s unknown origins,
Her secret gray mansion an Indian Jewish mother I know well,
His ugly Lebanese sister’s boat my salvation—
On that fine day when I kissed you I felt ten feet tall
But then couldn’t fit through the door
So I’m going to kiss you again so I can feel small enough
To walk in and kiss you again and burst through the ceiling like a jet through the atmosphere and once in the sky
I’ll write your name in letters twenty feet high—
Just to tell you I don’t think I could live another day
Without you and yet here it’s another day—
Where have I been in hell with Orpheus
And Satan’s handmaid but I want to get back to the airplane
With you in my arms soaring around the sun—
Dedalus has nothing on me, Apollo knows all I want to know is what the Delphic oracle said to you when u had me in your Egyptian bed
God the Father giving me head on his hands & knees
I will take ur your hand to wed—
I’m feeling lucky, I don’t even know why,
Could it be because I just saw a ghost dancing across the room
that comes as no surprise any day or any time—
The poet prays to Euclid’s golden cube,
Silver and magnetic, the mother of all elements
Spits them from her sphincter like her mother before her—
The minimalist chaos of complexity the future of our rhythms and reflections—petite mother of misty, golden gasses
Glassed into a baroque dialogue,
Moliere mystified, supple Byzantine flesh,
Botticelli and all things that start as ideas,
Art starting with things and turning them into ideas,
Stripping the flesh from her back,
Her mystical heritage seeing the world from inside a
western missionary smoking dope from a mother’s ***,
My mother’s slippery genius no useless thing
Barbara’s *** smelling like musty pantyhose;
From arte povera to minimalism,
I would make love to her for money, a lot of money,
Her spindly southern feet bare in strappy flats—
Minimalism is not simple, my Anima is not an animal
******* her wormhole at an ancient ambient wedding—
Edna in her seamed stockings disguised as a pinup,
Reciting short ****** prayers, her knickers down—
Exciting as ice cream there is only one flavor—
Shawn mumbling in her sleep & ******* her wormhole—
A mother’s ***** is sweeter than ice cream,
As exciting as ice cream, unforgettable as a perfect pearl
Her punctuated perspective; her ocean of body hair,
Her cat sculpted of ****** wood; her nurse’s degree,
My short radio fiction, Edna spanking Rabindraneth—
Lizzie and Marilyn walking in stilettos in the sand,
Her diamond encrusted bra straps,
Time traveling to the present January,
Ella eating out the blonde, not just any hippie
Her pearls glistening in the night, star struck in a world of wonder—showing herself to me and realizing my dreams in the vacuum of sleep her mother doing yoga with an *** the size of a watermelon as delicious as spring breezes off the brown river of her European charm, her restroom orthodox,
Plastic Japanese women listening to the Beatles,
It’s no crime that she’s heir to a philosophy that’s cool and calm—
Cheerleaders and toilet slaves know there is only one Paradise
But many Hells, one for each eye, her soul’s twin, Diana, and freedom—if you take one teenaged girl you have to take them all, teenage girls travel in sweeping swarms of Realism,
Old tongues aligned with their *******
Barbie’s Jewish roots wasted in Japan—
Swedish grandmothers weekend wives—
Tender Victorian feet of tomorrow thinking before they speak instinctively, the math subconscious, his ugly Lebanese sister’s boat my salvation—
Minimalism proving impractical in a Baroque Age—
We must choose our blue angels miraculously
Gorgeous Russian ****** in the underground—
Skinny blonde rednecks turned urban hipsters,
not just any blonde or infantile Japanese woman, a ******’s familiar face Russian rock and roll lover inevitably naked and insane Russian girls tasting like apples, Edna and Shawn partying on the beach with an Israeli girl;
Ella showing the Japanese girl to the toilet dreaming of crows,
Painting her four walls, showing ******’s sister strangled with her own pantyhose on film her deepest thoughts springing to hellish life—at the last minute she runs in and blows me a Cinderella kiss—
I live in the two worlds of her heart’s unknown origins,
Her secret gray mansion an Indian Jewish mother I know well,
His ugly Lebanese sister’s boat my salvation—
On that fine day when I kissed you I felt ten feet tall
But then couldn’t fit through the door
So I’m going to kiss you again so I can feel small enough
To walk in and kiss you again and burst through the ceiling like a jet through the atmosphere and once in the sky
I’ll write your name in letters twenty feet high—
Just to tell you I don’t think I could live another day
Without you and yet here it’s another day—
Where have I been in hell with Orpheus
And Satan’s handmaid but I want to get back to the airplane
With you in my arms soaring around the sun—
Dedalus has nothing on me, Apollo knows all I want to know is what the Delphic oracle said to you when u had me in your Egyptian bed
God the Father giving me head on his hands & knees
I will take ur your hand to wed—
I’m feeling lucky, I don’t even know why,
Could it be because I just saw a ghost dancing across the room
that comes as no surprise any day or any time—
The poet prays to Euclid’s golden cube,
Silver and magnetic, the mother of all elements
Spits them from her sphincter like her mother before her—
The minimalist chaos of complexity the future of our rhythms and reflections—petite mother of misty, golden gasses
Glassed into a baroque dialogue,
Moliere mystified, supple Byzantine flesh,
Botticelli and all things that start as ideas,
Art starting with things and turning them into ideas,
Stripping the flesh from her back,
Her mystical heritage seeing the world from inside a
western missionary smoking dope from a mother’s ***,
My mother’s slippery genius no useless thing
Barbara’s *** smelling like musty pantyhose;
From arte povera to minimalism,
I would make love to her for money, a lot of money,
Her spindly southern feet bare in strappy flats—
Minimalism is not simple, my Anima is not an animal
