Aardvarks and Applesnarks,
filling in between the quarks.

Scratching and scraping behind the door.
Shuffling and snuffling all across the floor.

I hear them tapping, hear them scraping,
wonder where they've gone a traipsing.

Aardvarks on the move,
Applesnarks in the groove.

Looking like land sharks after the ants,
Make sure you don't get one up your pants.

Antsy aardvarks all
accept ants accordingly
as an addiction

Bamboo bayonets
bought by barbaric, beastly
barons bite beatniks

Cloistered cobblers can
color candy-cane conches
concealing crooners

Daffodils doodle
daydreams down, debauchery
demons deafening

Every eon each
electric elephant eats
eleven elk eggs

For fun fantasies
file films filosophic'ly
filling filaments

Go get greens
Get grass grayer gal
goonie ghoul

Hello high hammock
how hooligans heave haddocks
heathenly hecklers

Igloos ixist in
icy islands interning
internationally

Jello jam jizzy
Jacks jostling jewels juney
jump jump joop jail

Animals abolishing apples and apricots,
angry astronauts abandon Abraham's automobile,
algae acting after ant at Ally alligator's aunt's apartment
Aching antsy alpha aardvarks arranging afternoon arguments
After Amanda ate anchors, Anna attacked Alabama
at Abbey Road Alice anounced an aristocrat arriving.
An acceptable antonym!

half my horse was owned by a cowboy
with a lasso,
and half of it was owned by an apache
without the Huns' innovation of stirrup -
which was how Rome was conquered,
the Huns were standing
while the Romans had their testicles
smacked too hard against horse spines
for scrambled eggs.*

bob dylan makes purest sense
on a train,
heading from st. pesterburg to moscow,

anything else is called a cameo worth rendition
to clock in a chicken's clucking,
not that it was going to be bland throughout
comparatively alike beef, but unlike
comparatively chewy like squid rings
deep friend with onions...

i'm still up for raw herring and tartar steak
rather than an l.s.d. trip, i need the day
than pulverising colours in hyper-geometries
asking whether a leaf shape would be
assertive via the ****** addict's nodding
to what's a black hole in comparative venture
a similitude of tropism...
here comes the nod, here comes the vote,
here comes the nod, here comes the vote vote vote.

no, i mean, i have all the time in the world...
i was with an appendix that pretended to be an ******,
******* ****** kin, and ova like spermatozoa.
i get that german socialist nationalism didn't
work but built a vein / artery network of the autobahn
(arteries the motorways, veins the st. clement close,
culprit gardens, bypass avenues, etc.)
so will the other intervention be workable
e.g. gotta love ol' walt whitman?
am i about to **** statue of liberty's ****
for the sake of capitalistic nationalism working?
everywhere you go it's little america, mid-west america,
about as much cultural diversity as all the aardvarks
in the world on steroids put together...
i go to italy i'm in little italy, a suburb in new york,
i go to paris i'm in little paris, a suburb in boston,
i go to beijing i'm in little beijing, a replica chinatown
everywhere...
the same aardvarks on steroids started to snort up
the ants as a new feeding mechanism
leaving the tongue to lick their genitalia and ****...
the way i see, there's only one resolve,
go nowhere, dig into your vicinity,
make the villages big, Big, BIG....
don't go down the route of tourism,
everywhere is the same, the only change is
price-wise... which is odd that we're asked
to speak like abstracts, use all the pronouns
available, but avoid using nouns referring to ethnicity,
start the bleaching process, globalisation
doesn't allow such nouns as african,
or american, or european, globalisation just doesn't
identify with noun usage... it's all about abstracting
a syrian an african a european into compost heaps
of i, you, me, we, it, they, them...
identify beyond this realm... and you're in the troop
of supposed trouble-makers.

Once, you told me to write a poem about your love.
The crashing and demolishing and devouring
blue lips.
I tried, I promise.
But how do I bury what I did underneath water?
It floats to the top. Always.

Once, you told me to let my soul speak,
but it kept its ignorant mouth shut.
Now it's wailing and pining and crying
out for you,
but it stayed quiet much too long.

Once, you told me if I drifted away,
you would stay with me, laying on the grass,
the moon glowing and gleaming and smiling.
But you left me on the cold
September grass,
although the bitter air feels more like
November or
February.

Once, I was scared of falling asleep-
of Darth Maul and Aardvarks and little boys.
So you ran past trip wires and over laser beams to be with me-
my dream catcher-
but the back door.
You forgot the back door.
A few months later it happened again,
but this time your parents didn't call.
They think you're on a life preserver
this time.
Little do they know how blind they are.
That life saver is headed straight
to jagged rocks.
I a watching.
Still. Always.
A tiny drop in the dashing blue and
foaming white.
A tear drop.

Once, I told you my heart is an ocean of secrets,
and a few months later you found out exactly how.
And you cried thus filling our ocean with more salty drops.
Later, I filled it with my own.
And somewhere, somewhere in that vast ocean, spread out over miles and miles, both our teardrops are running around.

Once, you told me to write about salt water.
The waves and the tide and
capsizing boats.
So, now, when I think of the ocean,
deep blue, caverns, untold mysteries,
I think of you.

Penguins waddle.

Camels spit.

Aardvarks burrow.

And bovines ****.

Father and Mother Noah both
Sailed away when in wide rushed
Tides to tower over the land,
To cover the mountains high at hand,
Axe-cut planks whereon they plod
Made to float on the waters’ top.

Song of the Aardvarks

In the very heart of us
The most essential part of us
Is our total love of life
To dig in the termite mound alive,
Lie in our burrow with bellies full,
Scratch and breed at the season’s pull.

Front limbs arms like ape or bear
Eight little shovels drive deep in there
Small mouth only needs to take
Termites, with its tubule teeth
Distant elephant our nearest kin
Freaks of evolution.

Song of Mother Noah

In this Ark I cradle safe
My suckling babies free from scathe
Silky kids velvet eared
Little woolly moggies dear
All shall live. None shall die
As the waters rise on high.

Song of the Hawks

She stoops upon them in her sudden flight
The wild mice fleeing at the killing sight,
Her talons long and razor sharp
Drive in with force to pick them up
Meat got, while the sessile male
Scarce a third of a bird is of a look pale.

Song of the Dove

White as a church
Or sepulchre
Blue sea and sky
I rise among
To fly abroad
If land should lie
Where love and peace
May flourish free
In life thereby.

Song of Father Noah on First Releasing the Dove

Because of the evil hearts of men
Out of the sky God sent the rain
The money changers pimps and thieves
Wasted in the oceans’ leave,
Here I put upon the seas
A bird who much more planet sees
With tale to tell of land again.
Go or come just as you please,
Sheltered from the hot Sun’s ray
Safe in the Ark the rest shall stay.

Song of the Sloth

Slow up from lying-down I get
To take my weight on idle foot,
From a heavy, a deep repose
I only stir when to toilet I goes.

Song of Father Noah on Next Releasing the Dove

My clever bird, far off you fared,
The four horizons close compared
Returned to us with bitter word
Dry land had not yet occurred

Song of the ******

All my tendons strong and thin
Stretch to drive a lockpiece in
Hard labour long to make the lodge
Into which to deftly dodge
If danger or else winter threats
The brook closed off as if with gates.

Song of Father Noah on Last Releasing the Dove

Olive tree like ancient man
Ever twisting with your sister
You give us oil for light and pan
And meat; Shade, fruit and timber useful
– Sage bird, a branch to me you bore,
Fly, little god, and come no more.

Song of All the Animals on Being Returned to Dry Land

Ants to hills, cattle to pasture
Birds to trees whatever comes after,
The cleaned land populates anew

Song of the Whales

If a whale come on the land
Put it back if ever you can
Else think it a death parental
Grave, give it respectful funeral.