Thursday, May 28, 2015


there is not one moment in/for which
the clockface of dandelions blown
out as basements will not tell
its facial tells at the table in the tension

of rigging ropes in the niceness tarred
as ancient kings of Natron salt
of all kinds and hues they all taste

with deep ceramic spoons they call it
that now that lying together in sleep or else
now world and children ere the moon the spoon
clock that has no face that has no rise

upon it at dawn and withafter dawn
and at nightsfall in the holy sex
of six and six and nine and hereafter

where the deadfolks the deadfux
as we now lay/lie with our feet updown
on the slow-rafted yet again to flux
what we have love what we have

death in all of it like fossil vampires
what sucks up fires eek phires
eek oupyres eek

so let loose
the fucking goose
eek lend-lease
the freaking geese


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