They call it Nod, land of the univision, whereby
irises telescope visual vibrations
pulsating through pastures
excavating memories of forsaken planes.
This will be a field trip to your mother's grave:
Bring bandannas for the anxious sweat
Bring a pen so you don't forget,
chameleon skins of inbred love
kinky vines reformed with braid
eyes of disinherit cause Medusa's Gaze.
A Peach in the Sun.
The call it habao, the wa(y)our body toasts
en el nombre del husband, hija y holy hoast
you must sun-beam that photon-receiving
wet back that
can't compete with-
won't compute the-
buzzing waves of las bees-
zumbido de olas de las abejas?
Last night, I had a dream that my skin became translucent with tv screens
teleporting
telephonic
cationic cathodes
o' flaking fallout
on cockroach
homes below
bilingual breakdowns beeping
//incomplete// incomplete//
The monster in the sky is just the moon.
¡Cancion Lunar? Claro! // Moon Soong? Why yes!
My minotauro is missing // ¡Donde esta mi minotauro?
¡Mi Tauro no esta aqui! // My Toro is not here!
¡Loco como un coco? // Crazy like the coconut?
Mi//My//Me//Mio//Madre//Mia//
Luna lunar like la loon.
Qual es la conclusion?
Can't a cancion sing?
Como canta mi pajarito,
tea tee ti re: tú two too.
Cuckoo clock concludes:
el toro, tauro, bull has been set loco, largo, loose.
No comments:
Post a Comment