NOCTURNE: A GOON SONG
Potatoes bleed
Under the ache
Of old empires,
And the moon
In skillets of joy
Rasps.
I cannot tell you
Of the loves of oranges
Or the death
Of hope in fertilizer.
Mystical vacuum cleaners
Inconvenience tourists
In effete hotels.
Can paper clips survive?
I have dreamed
Of golden suppositories drifting
In a mauve gloom,
And passion sucked
From mouths no dentist penetrates.
Beware of beans.
How to evaluate
The kitty litter of rejuvenation,
Terror,
And the cracked skulls of birds?
The hair piece remembers,
The ax oozes,
The octopi advance.
It is time for the sharpening of knives.
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