Cranberry Noose

spoon fed my keepsakes and nothing blots the sun so much
you teach me how to cringe in spun sugar. the nape of your
neck.
gleefully, we usurp the thicket of our mild dementia. sullen
joy equipped. a sumptuous dirge curdles the myth, your fins
sex.
as troubadours, we malinger in the pith of our blunt fruit. crust
removed from our daily bread. our basket of basilisks, bathe
in stone.
duel wielding our gazebos... we bivouac in our ambivalence, by
turns we move. you tip toadstools as i milk maidens for their
candelabras.
our palominos run. we do 
violence to timpani and click mice. 
pc
drifting in the cyberwocky. we transit the binary auto-bond
and paste 
whats 
clip.
blue thumbs thread cranberry noose. our vodka nods off. fronds
of juniper and cannabis slap the window pane. throughwhich 
a tit mouse pounced on frond’s sway.
startled, we move the furniture of our eastern proclivities.
for thine is the kingdom
 of our discontent !
swing-shift lap-dogs, trundle west of the east village. smell
of herpes and nag champa. idiots sting.
idiots braid zodiacs with greasy fingers. [ indeed ]
and
you 
preach from your gut...
( your left breast   marvelous with taint) and saltwater taffy.
we 
laugh again-
at things     we have
and now 
only
harbor ghosts
where the rain
should have 
been.
should have 
been.
should have 
been.
should have 
been.
should have 
been.
should have 
been.
should have 
been.
should have 
been.
should have 
been.
should have 
been.
should have 
been.
should have 
been.
should have 
been.
should have 
been.
should have 
been.
should have 
been.
should have 
been.
should have 
been.

this is the new
 intimacy.