Capturing Your Tedius Precious Children On The Phone 1
the volumes feel blank, with the other
mothers, i stand in line with my santa
sac and gold teeth waiting for my turn
on the painted dot when the magnifier
will come on, each volume, the blur
of a starfish child spinning up to the
doctor's eye, the liquid bolts of the
painting move across the peaks of its
tin roof. this little thong is thinking
long, and this little package feel
a time to string. rolling the starfish
over onto its back, i notice its legs
are little children and x's, suddenly
i'm smoke again.
//
Capturing Your Mighty Tedious Phone Inside Its Child 2
the volumes begin to grow sugar, when their
unkempt bubble tears lay like rosy arms
in the stubble of our principles, the useless
bellowing of the car salesman's grotto
is released toward the buffalo of the street's
upturning grin, not what is not been going
on, but what is not has been going off,
or around the time of the tedious display
the affable unlucky staircase in its heavy
shoes could carry to the railless lifter
circle. mass modifications to bodies often
turn out faulty, not through any fault
of the body or the modification, just
the number of examples, and the felicity
of getting morphic ear, the crab's rudder
jawed antenna orchestra moving midnight.
//
Special Tedious Jellyfish Phone 3
the blank volume fit neatly like a tongue
in the mouth of the not nearly sister who
had just come out of the oven. when the
little book opened its mouth to speak,
we could see the edges of the earlier
tide pool with its little clumps of
salesmen and cars. i immediately
called over troy so he could sniff
glue up through its model and show
it pictures of swimming pools
running up the street to save our
mole chin convenience store the
trouble. the little volume was
okay, an ex-patriot dial-tone
played across its urchin display
sockets. i moved a fork over
to seal open its microphone.
good, i said. blank, it replied.
//
An Amazingly Tedious Stone Telephone Tidepool's Gumboot Requiem 4
in a volume shaped like a revolver, a whirling
letter came out dished up in a chiton's dotter,
the wavy brain it surfaced upon looked out from
a console of windows like a waterfall, while our
own good mary took the time to empty the entry
into a detective's office. office equals orifice-
tidepool, says our own good mary, the sons of goat,
beard an eight-piece valve, love coins shatter upon
deposit into the low patio. algae sings sweetly
atop dead animal telephones as they buzz around
inside the open prayer, ah, player, the rules
are posted near the art driller's locker room,
where often a girl that looks like mary comes
out wiping your mouth, the sea hare venus is
off its cradle in the tedious black brown red,
dead mud gets cut into pages again
and the sculpins is sure good.
//
Tedium Achieves Some Simple Cellfoonery 5
within the tedious tides brought in
by the terrabile cellfoon that day,
i had found a lithe little torque
of nudely branching barnacles clustered
closely to the tedium of the ages,
speaking in squeaks to an ear so
pounded by the crushing luminosity
of all forms so as to be recognize-
unable. and with the erect crystalline
magnifier petals of my enraging masque
of tedium, i turned the full brunt of
all speech upon the smoke-like haunts
of its wireless pool of little salesmen.
donny dug a starfish frisbee nipple
out of the corner of his eye and put
a patent pearl into the musical mucous
surrounding the tedium hole's shade head
paddles, whose sweet lissome voice
had been banalized by a billion children's
feet all stamping in unison for a hundred
trillion years, or a week, maybe, looking
up their wad counts and cucumber pants
in the tide-pool's outerest comynglinguagiam.
the dirty detective's shoe lace lapped
at a tedious tongue embedded within the
terrabile stone seance. the dreary pale
uneven resonances continued abatingly
onward as a blank furniture book came out
on the portico to chat with us awhile
after we died in the shark denture's
tinker garden folio.
in the world she said, and in tedium,
i intend to out-herod any odd hearing
herring herein, etc. i know you're all
phonies, i said, some sleep-themed
divinatory cells straightening out my
puppet's hoplite blemmy head, looking
around for fuel cakes amidst the starving
lower creatures, or their lovers, whose
political tediums scene for blank ridiculum
when the sun wine gloms englass.
it's a transparent ass-oppossum that enters
a holy knight's cheshire shell fin fustible,
where goodness gasps under the good, and evil
suffocates under the bad, all is lost when
vegetable time is regained, tedium reigns.
i see nothing in your eyes anymore, but
vegetable bridges to vegetable lands. she
stopped me right there. tide pools gave electric
johnson his only chance. i shrugged through
jointed appendages, often clawed with hard
exterior skeleton and bilaterally symmetrical
isopods, the fits we get in with the ur-chins.
i sing a little song then:
your chants in urgency grow
here in urchance, in your change
all the shanties know, what is
my shant is your agency, and
what shunts the hunt is a
bunting on blank volumes
sluicing tidal through
the whole, sweet tedium
as skeined in an
involuting
floral
engine
whose jeweled strings
pass through green nipples
which live on tufted flanges
around the whispering mouths
whose tiny pastel teeth of
lacy pollen get our tedium
to vellum what sage blankness
airs its rust these anemone
eyebrows dictate hush, ovarian
eye bushes hang heavy down
through its crust where another
tedium of mangled busts erupts
from the scum of twisted vegetable
mermiads the salesmen polish
with their choral head-wheel
helmets for dust.
suicide is tough
in a fog so thick
with substance and
instruments
where in a tidepool
can one go
to line one's membrane
with sanctified nudity
barkers harsh
the poor little harps
that find themselves
born in a cellfoon's
lobster gliding upward
for daze but then falling
a monumentally
primitive eye
scans the dead sky
and we all
roll over
in the dumb
head's tide
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