silver skyes

the immobile seagull
quick to be blamed immortal see-all,
quick to be kicked out of the community
for spying on the pigions of lesser value,
by the hern of even lesser value, so little
value in fact, that a dived suicide into
the picton depths is all thats left

King Kong's dress

way back in 1042, someone
sayd eyes of blue, you too,
can be some brooding wheat thresher
waste high in flowers, in the wrong field, wating
for lunch to eat bread made
from the water powered crushed wheat you did not
contribute to eat!

streaming

the canals are froze up enough
to land a seagul fight
for some rocks.

the lungs of them are the lines of my arm,
jabbed and robbed, barren of biological clocks.

the deep is not so deep and it is streaming down there.
up here it is steaming out
upon release to, at most, fear.

doves are the hermit of the rickshaw
pigions are the hermit of the rock, y'all.
;to each, a lemon lying in the green green grass
is a yellow yellow beacon in a beaked workforces internet sanctum.

enter the winter

wise is so cold
early ears, corn scald still salt hold
but still old.
eat it before you scold,
and get sold
down river.

wydhj rjkryjd WAyys df cxyyt

down south blurrs
and flrrs

ice this morning.
what next, north?

cell lysis

crisis in the finest places.
the medals of gold slung slug
like around a neck stretch
, could be a causeway,
on and on on what
is instead a flyway.
,a near death experience in the waiting
,a dirty shoulder and a
,torqued torqueometer in the making

bowfin to the rescue

the great restoration.
could it be so great
without a great one,
bowfin, restorator?

A fish for the ages!
A fish for gibralter!

but the fish says,
fibralter.
the fish has a lisp.

slimeancipation proclamation

enough is enough is enough
enuresis.
get it, get it out.
like Ford Motor Company
if the cars where employees.
like the stored energy of a wimsitron,
if the store was a gold coated revolver.

cycles of morbidity

a fat backed haddock
swims through the lockjaws.
swifter in pieces, hewed into feces,
to return, via the sewer
to the ocean that knew her.

massey's furniture barn

he used to say
let them star in a major motion picture
like a team of cats theyd
be,
so sophisticated and ricy under they eyes,
I like to think that it would be too good a
time to be alive
and the whole show would be up put
for murder en masse.

army cyst day

unless you hate war
the great war
human heads and hands (as cheese) grater
is never more later
than 1111
1111111111
111111111111
111111111111111
11111111111111111 repeating ever after

imagine if daylights savings time
landed on that day.

it probably would not have ended. because
someone would have forgot
to stop firing the cannons until what was before not late
is now too late
to stop war
fear and hate

edicts as an attempt at a lie

this is a suitcase right her
and a tenor
and a chicolini chewing gum
, flavors flying loose and loose tooths
falling foose balls,
fucking goose it all!

santy clause will come out of the clausit and say it. say that.

1. a lie! a lie! my kingfisher for a lie!
2. a avacodo seed soup! a avacado seed soup! my sloop for a avacado seed soup!
3. serenity now! serenity now! my sanity for serenity, now!

claws flaws jaws
hyperbollic laws
sailing coups and flailing goops,
direct from the corner of a wet wet sticky sticky morning fist faced eye socket still
corrugated with last nights infestation of fairy dust

cornelious vanderbilt built it; yellow empires of gold.

corn husky.
thats what I feed them. and the fat
that falls off their rolling eyes
is what I cook with.
its easy. peasy. pleasing and meezy,
not to mention amusing ,
when I tell them all,
all them in the gallery
eating porkcorn, watching tuesday morning porn
around the corner for free if they are two and two is two,? you see?
that they are actually
eating
corn husky
.
its not from a can.

home again home again jiggity hog

the hogs roll in
the hogs roll out
they turn their brains inside out
trying to figure out
if the wings I have on are cause I'm a pilot
or a devil
or an angel. yes, I'm an angel I promptly reply. you but
to do and die, not much older than me or him, jesus.
he walks. I flie. grindstone, bye bye.
baby bye bye.

happy new year

you can get it if you really wont

talcum and limestone and other ocean substation
homes,
they will become me when I'm
sold down river and smacked around
under posieden's pummul horses,
standing or sitting or running out of room,
crashes and crashes and layers and layers
and desmond dekkers of pressures
theirs for ever afters

this_aint_no_october_no_more_its_no_vember_niether

oh the hidden fission
of a thousand pannel magician fishing
or first hand dished out to drink stiff
orbiting crimson wrapped sticks
occasions for points and counterpoints

let this be that last warning before parting
bell tower lights smile empty eyed, simply
flied and spidered, they stand now but tomorrow
. not tomorrow, never can there be that if there is to day.

Of the many things I want, its a crane. I would
lift myself up heights and heights and luff
in the jet stream, ready set, being a pressure drop.

its_just_a_duck

the water is low as the sun is slow.
violins jump and racket in the grass,
big feet and surprised by the coldness
of the heat. that is the way from up here,
hinges squeeking hyfe and nice. trees, stripped of power,
serve to dawdle the alphabet and spindle spanners
clean on out to the plodding me
with riddles satched to my pants.
empty locks rigid and mushy
or planar and outcropped with
fat; the larvea of another seer take a nap
. mad is the eastern sky, the western sky, the northern sky, all
driving to confusion the 1oth souther sky, in retreat, beat to
the last to have a majority reclaimeda froma the oceana.
all flapping
all a streamline.
its just a crow among seagulls

the_cat_came_black_every_other_day

freedom is leaking from cupboards
no cups no spoons
all plates
all right
their free
at least
for me and you and me
if you and me are mice
and the cat is dead-eyes upside
down of the grime,
soft and useful as a sofa isn't.

koala_soda

less a slug
more a flag

how many times have you heard that one before?

the questions keep on keepin on.
the real live sessions tip and tow a cardboard home
across the grass grown road
now resembling
less a flag
and more a slug,

all irony aside, all joking inside, all the hip-hopping
show stopping croakling sad faces of frogs in the rain
so cold and so wet and so many feet and no hands.

how did they get there?
how did all the clouds look exactly like them?