not today but after more

not today but after more

after more the boarding of shapes on wrinkled seas

stale waves as slaves a red sky's rose

long lives the bleeding mind for summers prize;

ankle doors on submerged trinkets of an egg white sneeze

blossoms and blooms my pedigree point on a canvass straight.

why slow the movements of my neck?

is it not enough just to be tired of the hunger?

and when; when will hang the banquet of this rush?

of sound time fists as heats the beating of my grandfathers hour hand

dump land sirens piercing the elbows of my sparrow-brain cork

my thunder wine in a slow crawl hive onto a deaths white horse lap.

and where are the hags of the sand?

turtle sex with truffle pasta painting the travels of my sails

my moon dry customs taskforce swill on carpet crawls with glass.

where is the lady of my brittle boned squeeze?

it is not enough to breathe her hands and bleed her gothic shrine!

I am a seagull with a blackbeard wing

paving the shavings of her ears.

look down beneath the hairpiece of her groin

fresh pork loins; coins from the camambert church;

fast forward and appears a prophetess in a white dust glove

waving through the straights of our Dover;