no box of light

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;