Sunday, April 7, 2013

J. S. MURNET



The Uttered Fog

Uttered the rain and born,
chopped wheel transcending steel-plated
glutters like those peanuts glittering in
the chain farm laden, cloistered abecedarium.
Wha’ calculi swirling in the throned
bowl with bristleen shorehome in
a divot-first endowment fracas
funded with a thorn and slipping tube
seepily if steeply placed against
a practical community of sleep
(anarchy glitters) the phone falling off the
wall where white once was until it ran
astray was dusty from the foghorn sleeping
on the shelf seen in retro-from enormal
viewfound forecasts gone dark (brown),
sandaled with a throat your mist spins in
the chandelier like ice rinse, princely,
thoroughly unfunded and ribbing sparking off
those static thoughts with ribbons planted
as they grow fungus flowered on the bulbs
shining in the closet with the clarinet, apart
from claret, a quartet of
quarts, distinct from quartz or
quotes the spitting clowns on TV
sipping, slurping borscht bulbs
flickering behind the stove where
coyotes keel over from the softness
of the smell sandal Velcro-ed on the
chair leg with a foot in hot pursuit of
cool shoelace glued around the face.
The mask of snakes unhinged a little
stroppy and maligned like the corn
growing in your shirt where the butt
ons used to Beatrice the dent corn
sleeping in a can right where I thought
of her parodic scampering her melodic
damp formula folding around the door
where gamma rays are spliced with
pears and a slipper bright with cat hair
right with serendipity and claws about to
crystallize the fog.

No comments:

Post a Comment