King of a Lost Frontier

king of a lost frontier the subway itch

I will sell my fat and pig-out on a toad

graze common ground through the tickle of a chair.

a body-full of bags for a surgeons' sponge

in the garden I belong in a cloud of lungs

fondling my flint for a better flame

through roots of air to the branches of a mouth.

cockeyed plums sucking sherbert through a straw.

the great freeze gone the jugular a knight

a furball fight for an apples heart and stone.

what floats so will I swallow tall and cross

eclectic moods as shapes my swallows spade

digging through an iceberg for an eye

stare down the ageing milkmaids naked hiss

climb aboard her shoulders on the backside of a kiss.

how bad her birds that never fly away.

a hard days walk through thick and thinning song

singing through the lilacs on a pond of kerosene

a throat as dry as whispers on an unexpected cry

too close for death to share me second wind.

two cocktail sticks for supper dead on nine.

too stubborn are my tastebuds wafer thin.

let loose abandoned respite in the company of kings

let loose my swollen tongue on a fairground swing;