staff of asclepius
it is always early in your country
and i love you for this
like the morning loves its cockadoodledoos
(emphasis on the doodle
I am on the crapper
after giving the millstone my all
recollecting a twelve year old's
vaginal bestiary of mind
alien vs. predator
(though always more predator than alien
with the telemetric dropsy of our age
i don't need figures or facts
i don't need a metric for lonelineſs
lickety split tickety boo
i make a recovery point for history
and fuck it all up for giggles and shits
it's easy to forget how to chew
or walk or sleep so suddenly
I find myself among the streets
debased by the collusive wind and rain
looking up things (aside from consonants
to do in reykjavik
it is too early still but here I am
the victim of long liquid shits from birds
(avenging ortolans fondus
sans either veritas or vino
i shall call thee the male sunrise
the tentative and tender auroron
pallidus mane that moves across the ciels
the buffer zone between myself and teleos
last night i dreamt from prison an escape
to rescue from a ravager my child
my spine and soul they wind around my ache
like mapplethorpe's caduceus (or worse
back of the bass rubbed by a loving knee
letters from hermes/aphrodite's son
how it all shines and fits (when it wants it can
both do and go against your nature
and what of the man?
he wipes his left nipple with sawdust and moves on
nothing is knowable save for love