12-05-2016, 02:08 AM
They are the octopus, I am the beak.
What?
In dark waters we are pockmarked by light.
What?
Today all is a linty green, even so,
the sun stalks with its goring horns.
What?
Here is a meadow -
the thugs of Venus
have trampled it into ruts and mires.
April sucks
at pores and arteries.
What?
Listen,
we are the many
the invisible feelers, the mycelium,
the crusty plasma of countless spores.
We speak for the leaves and grass.
Walt Whitman
is the little finger you hardly use.
What?
Frog phlem speckles wet driveways.
See the fugly skulls of April,
how their jaws mince
beneath the green undercroft?
Hear you, the paw-slapping
hoo-ha songs of the earth?
I am the beak, they are the gummy cephalopods.
Yes, yes, about this beak thing.
I am the ink and the silence.
In a fledglings gawk I am the fluff and bull,
the bloody bruit, the crimson coercion.
What the...
"April is the cruelest month".
Oooo wait.....shit, I think I get it.
Really?
Please explain.
What?
In dark waters we are pockmarked by light.
What?
Today all is a linty green, even so,
the sun stalks with its goring horns.
What?
Here is a meadow -
the thugs of Venus
have trampled it into ruts and mires.
April sucks
at pores and arteries.
What?
Listen,
we are the many
the invisible feelers, the mycelium,
the crusty plasma of countless spores.
We speak for the leaves and grass.
Walt Whitman
is the little finger you hardly use.
What?
Frog phlem speckles wet driveways.
See the fugly skulls of April,
how their jaws mince
beneath the green undercroft?
Hear you, the paw-slapping
hoo-ha songs of the earth?
I am the beak, they are the gummy cephalopods.
Yes, yes, about this beak thing.
I am the ink and the silence.
In a fledglings gawk I am the fluff and bull,
the bloody bruit, the crimson coercion.
What the...
"April is the cruelest month".
Oooo wait.....shit, I think I get it.
Really?
Please explain.