in the morning he eats a tall papyrus
red lips stained to a befuddled Bacchus
wisp ministrations of the dawns wet
voice beneath a mortal skin none torpedo
orphaned oracle his thoughts ashram
who tributaries go for ceaseless
sapiens celluloid like ram-ash
a Caterpillar in transition probing
tasting treacle of a wine-press
sunset down yet, lifting up the iris slept
from earth pacifier proclaimed throne
in his violet restrains limb isle
coffee table for all continents a sun
ghost lightening writing his aura
asymmetric in soul mate found
as crickets for the paths furl
choosing moon beam millipedes
or tailing in multitude
the dew gone into dusk wandering
numbing at nectar intrigued appurtenances
Comments
No, I can't find the internal logic
No doubt my failing.
I find it surrealistic yet quite profound in its use of language.
I read it again and again and enjoyed it more each time.
Then again I might be a strange person.
follow Jess
and read my
Machine gun ...one
and see what he has to say to me..
We learn from masters
he is one I am no one