if only time could sabre my tooth blood
flood-eels browsing the naked cancer of my glands
a land of florette in a lambs mood
sealing the wounds of my horn
blowing my trumpet and scoulding one movement of a sin;
how cross the moment on a steel grass
passing death where death has never confessed
asking only for a square god on a pheasants cross
caning the backside of a scenic trance in a silkworm mass
crawling like months through a week;
sun-dial the fractions of the hormone shed
shredding my fingers while a blade of blood
cuts through the template of my twisted form
as storms the cells of my love-wind
supressing the angles of a strangled pose on a hedge wood weed;
sewing with the handles of my rats paw
strawing with the semon of my shore-skin
with pinned arms on a cattle-grid mime
rhyming with the tombstone of a shell
hell is but a servant for a greater cheer to toast;
numbing the oysters of my toes
with shells ears on a cuckoo\'s map
laming the footprints of my silent tread
bedding the plants with my sperm breath on a dull spoon
mooning my ass on a pilgrims coat of chance;
and of she?
she of the bamboo tongue on a vampire knee
bleeding with the sunset of a day-break flea
stealing the mushrooms of my shrine
in a fog crawl where toads my littered breed;
if only time could sabre my tooth blood
flood my ears and peel my sunset dry;
eye one face of a storm race boiling strong
aim straight...
blow my bullok dry!