no box of light to air such fantasy
no room to school its\' bell on the fat lawn
watch the shinned bone kick and wrythe and shelter touch
shed her magpie skin for the pleasured eyes of clementine
breathe saxaphone on my naked jazz of turqoise;
with hitchcock hands on the keys of the soft perch
the winter boys\' swing chalice, cape and sundries
as sunday rolls her eyes and bites her tongue
my tarred and feathered dust-bowl like a canvess
sits as secrets sacred to the frown of frost on the low tide;
where hides my thieves of porcupine and fodder?
like lame goose on a lampshade chasing countries
rigged and ready for the high seas of the crabs nest
where men and mermaids swim a cockroach vein
that fuels each fingered flame of fostered waves
as i sail like seahorse pulling carriaged knaves
in search of jack frosts\' mothered pearl of braille;
all hail to the lords of the moles breast on my soft sails
as tall as i erect, my cuckoos bow and arrowed nest
feeds buttermilk to the webbed feet of my sea-snake
smoking monkey-shag through the arctic poles of milldue
as the devil pulls my teeth and plants a nipple in my throat
now a lion of the seascape in my canvassed coat of arms;
no box of light to air such fantasy
the painted nails of north-sea oil on skinless sea
floats as rice on the melting froth of sundays\' secret soup
my oxtail swinging hapless to the slow jazz of my shelter
as slides trombone on trumpets skin of casket blue and borrowed
in my tree-house sailing corckscrew to the willows of the sea
no box of light to air such fantasy;