I could be a werewolf or an ancestor Ambitionless as the sea a single
leaf falling into the ensign of the seahorse and the shore's brush with fame
an engine driving the enigma of the flamethrower throughout Europe in the
soft and crumbling cellar doors of Avignon could belch like a cube in the
Apenine eugenics of Rubix' Eurodisney castles along the castling height of
the bohunks a false embrace in the crewel-work darts and dalliances of the
necklace and its vulgar days along a Riviera of chintz The palmer's shell
cuts into your foot and the flower of blood announces to the dodo like the
curs of God the hobbling of the Crystal Palace by the jellyfish's twitching
finery by the fishmonger's lingo of Goa and the honeybee calypso that hangs
out in pantries so that the cougar can utter and forge your vanilla
chenille that brushes your thigh like an employee We trace the silken spur of
the strand like two criminals kissing along the seine with the broken back so
that the larkspur of Oreos in an orgy of despair darts into the teeth of the
aviaries' dilapidated tenets your kiss like trails of lava through the dewey
vineyard like the mushrooms that spring up on the necromancer's cupola a
man of bravado and estuaries like the soft black panther covering your
breasts The aimless Stewarts block the path at the tavern The manly
porters kneecap the oviparous Mexicans with a bootstrap The smell of blood
decays in the flaking air The woodwinds have all been rendered useless by
lichen and the Gordian meandering of cornfed aviation In your lisp we
could plant our children a kookaburra of utter exhaustion and an ejaculation
at the sterile graves of dominos we could kiss as ivy binds our faces
together we could greet the majordomo like some hybrid bimbo we could
great the silent spasms of the dark-blue sky with ceremonies unknown to
Tickle-me-Elmo
Gathered for miles, this shore like a divorced woman bristles at the
thought of the compony gardens the piers like brusque lobster-shacks the
cradle that hangs in the dormitory like a pillow I almost want to lick your
thigh-high boots as carpet echoes "the time is up" to the dozing students I
have to memorise your cape of the community college is like a narcoleptic
bowler Your organza skirt nips at the winsome breeze (The keening lepers
follow with the willow's nightcap) I have to remind myself your hair blossoms
with forget-me-nots like the baboon who pounced on the souffle who
conducted orchestras with the buffoon's oboe
Daniel C. BOYER September 22, 2002 Houghton, Michigan, USA
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