Preface
Stuck in an impossible bottle,
a cigarette is no longer for kicks.
Interrupted by all that surrounds me,
I truly am.
Little Satans invite me out.
Let us denounce the generation of gentrification,
living inside harmless sandcastles instead.
Plate I
Just when I thought the night was absent,
I saw swans exchange a forbearing design of the sky.
The sky can fall, but
the genitals of experience cannot.
Pregnant hairpins; thin tangerines; fasting neighbors; with these,
my hair inundates like the waves before
your death.
Intangibles foresee the tangibles
I wrote a letter to justice and am now
hanging on the clotheslines of guilt.
Plate II
Words cannot blanket you, as you fall asleep
on the stars.
Sexed-up metropolis of the convoy, girl awoken by dawn
sweating the chastity belt, bewildering the uphill trope of granular strokes.
The world has dyed its hair.
Pomeranian evenings shook up the coat,
and my bones have bleached marrow.
Drunken! For I do not have any hide.
I fly on an aimless arrow into the hillside,
and I have always known about the shackles since I
was in my crib.
Skunked with images of the pitiful immigrant,
couching crushes on acid, birds are gathering goods for the fall.
Ivoried dreams dare to escape them all.
Plate III
The stallion on a string is beating its legs.
Such a divine sight; I will borrow tomorrow
and return forever to your lap.
The world is soaked in maternity pants.
Everglades have their own ritz.
Grander than ever, I see you today.
Hoping to embark on forging endless trees
into the pocketbooks of tomorrow's waistline.
Radiant earthenware faces fall chaotic on floors - dirty.
Poetry cannot claim me.
I have been adopted by dead angels and smug devils.
This instilled seed has been sown again, by me.
Trademarked living should be unemployed.
Take your limitless socks and caress your feet with
the invincible invisible.
Pimp the binaries and invent with intent.
Plate IV
Inhaling clouds; purple desertion;
The kangaroo has its tail between its legs.
Stars and my pupils are flirting.
Modern-day Van Gogh. Oh!
What a sight to see.
Testaments are met with lament and the Sun
is draining the bottom of the sea.
Sinkholes have been infesting my mind,
bludgeoning the sky.
Shortchanged on a runway, slitting ventricles
with sound laughter,
clockwork robins are bustling hard, in the prison yard.
Pearly pennies.
Pennies.
Pennies.
Pennies.
Pennies.
Pennies on the floor of soap.
Under oath.
Brushback bangs that make you love yourself...
I love you.
