Two handfuls I could count on two rising hands
Producing old west-spun, embossed weekend
Orangefruits dancing with their bird noses, proud
Mystical burning frisked fowl fistulas soaking
Scents on The Mouth of Hell bridging
The unaiming the upbringing and forgetting
Exit habit

Palette
******
Can you fathom
Line in lying
Sit in this chair and
Spin
And once you're at
The Mouth of Hell

Digging into a hole, as they say it's
Holding up what is due from past frothing pits
Picking tree after wood which is taught by the birds
Pecking, piercing promises, pillaging patternous
Pathos continuously, The Mouth of Hell
Foresting this world unending you
Face it

Abuse
Is by you
On the dirt
From your grave
All which is singing along
To the birds on a path
Unsightly as marriage
Unkempt like a boy sitting still

Are the badge-bearing demons ready to knuckle
Holding breath contests in their leaf-sewn jail of lockers
Like picketers and fuelers can pen out abuse
As seizing angelical seismic acclaiments of crowd
Anoint me, my mouth screams, “Warning! Hell is down!”
But now I think, “Just jump in and drown.”