"Noses Of Styrofoam"
Teeth of fool's gold.
Plenty to the load.
A monocle's prisms.
Part of a dog's dream.
In heaven's steam.
Up in the inner space above us.
Pus coming from a cloud.
God's bad breath ejaculations.
Afraid of premature minds' sensations.
Photographed in the press.
What a mess.
Like a crazy express off a track.
Better get back.
To where you belong in a song.
She was as tall as he was long.
Framed in a classical painting by Van Eyck.
To paint for the New York Times' patrons.
They must have been drunk.
Tanked in the suds.
Smells like a dead skunk.
By a rose's dead beat poet -
named Jonathan Billet.
06.21.14.
No comments:
Post a Comment