Arthur Flockwhimsy Poet Burlesque

So Much For So Little.

Bitter colored Flying Sunken-roofed Cities

Rain death fall New Suits and Extinguished Eyes.

“I know that Wine will Flee Shouting”

But Sadness, while a thing,

Does not Make an Emotion Real.

And Thus Indignant

Cannot be Thrown out with any mere Groping of Ease.

Expansive Knee of God,

The Moon Descends Falling,

Shaken Free,

Forgotten Bodies Foul the Air.

The Memory of his Shadow, Creeping delicate,

Against the Dawn, Against the far Wall,

Circles Shouting

Sounds: Both  slow  n’ sharp n’ moist

Factories of Oddly placed  Kisses, Flesh Galloping Breath Explosions, Submerged 

throbbing Motors, Perpetual trembling wanton performances, private obscene 

respiratory clothing, Eternally surrounding mouths and teeth of lick and Want, 

Throbbing Sexual Mouth Oysters For anytime Meals, Uniformed Melancholy Tea 

Regiments, Novels read in Bed Like Tangled Sheets, Moist hand smell of cigarettes 

and coffee inhaled as comfort and Prayer, Absent Thirst of happily humiliated 

Waiter (Game held on Tuesday), Ingenious gathering Funeral Occasions and if asked 

why?? Why, just because!, Dancing Rolling Fugitive Dismantled Ship of Rug like 

Substances and afterwards the quite time (of licking the burns, yes, 

We Had God by the Tail.

And Now?

…

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