from the pale i come

from the pale i come
with all my dun dollops of truth
stricken with east winds
and gambits beyond puppies
and cheap thrillians.
i surface where the gone
gets a speck of joy
but meanders in the crease
of a toasted sun,
with a galaxy
premise
for a local
[ drum. ]

II

from the weird, I do-
what the ordinary lapse
conjures from the wax
of a Wanting Hive...
as thick as a honeypot
on thin ice, and
parole
where the gods wrangle
for an arresting
pitard
to hoist your visions by.

III

having slept in the barn
i eventually write poetry
and cope with my random
on a tart between
the Queen’s teeth and
a Monday.

i conjoin the fickle limp
with a turgid bloom;
and sunder ants
on the march
where the air is
Fascist-
And too clean for wisdom-
pondering; all the while
the circuitry
of the Invisible
with my
polymath
blinking at
Intolerable
Sums.