To my brilliant doctor
I asked
"Am I in recession"
he replied
"No not in recession
but you are in remission".
Surreal beauty fit to fly.
Pearly teeth, oozing lies.
Dark mane casts ethereal frame.
Deep blue views of sinister flames.
Transient bodice, eager flight.
Others upon, she bestows the sight.
Lying beauty unadorned.
Dark addiction, newly horned.
Gentle hand, cloying chest.
Upon hole, within loss rest.
Flaying flesh from bone.
A dying wish of an inherent crone.
Hole, which inner heart was bore.
Afore gaucherie did so gore.
Lying inert and naked on the floor.
-Any comments are appreciated.
My abecedarian fingers
Numb to their recalculations and lexicons
I brush slimly my thumb through each
And clasp myself in fives or nines
It sinks its full weight like an equivocate clasp
One gaucherie to an eldritch comeuppance
A padlock lip nimble and pivoted like sickness
Delicate but ultimately dependent upon timing
The human stomach is a pendulum
I feel mine pulse as cynosure cascaded
I cherish extemporaneous occurances
Empyrean palisades and medications
I collect as a dictator my tintinnabulations
Of etiolated tchotchke and clamp my fistful
Stumpside in the rivulet, Adamic clay bathes
Of my clasping reconnaissance of fives and nines.
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