Aniphony For A Marble

Inside a pallustradic
monotrot
there's a kitchen blooming
steam
and from inside
where cried die flowring
inventive mini's
lie
outstretched perogatives
in small circles
comes the cage of
utoplessness
crying for the air

to see now the bridge
while fog creams
one eye
another
then sudden
without so warning
disappears
into holden speics
- like words

held with chew gum
or blubble
slowly rinsing
the membraneous cavern
of teeth
which is really what
inside
a pallustradic
monotrot is like
but for the hairy old
whistlers of
dirty sheets and fog
bound night mares,
a tall gernaium
sokes up the plastic
when the sun tingles
the saliva snaked
uvula,
now golden
and warm
lucky people old people
silent for ever