Don’t you feel the
integration of the
isolation with
all the insinuating
of life’s
siren?
Ive felt it for days,
I’ve parodied
with the slaves
Pears for Peacocks, they cried
what the hell is this dock
open for?
Spread
wider!
what!? no!
Wares shuffled off
the hold with
Rothchilds’ shares
into my hair

Let it drip onto the balcony
the falconry of
a million different
seasons

Oh it’s falling, and look
a space shuttle
and a broom

and I’ve caught the entire
world of
literature
with the diction
of a nicely
rowing
cur.

Then swallowed each word
digested the
remnant,
heaved,
served it with
Sanskrit and
mint.

Lords and women
above,
what keeps
the people in this
tailed-dove
air?