It feels like a microscopic Bruno inside my stanky glass pipe.
-Bruno, The Child Oyster.
Crystal Phallus Nose Birds are ploughing the trough
Depositing their enhanced fabrications;
Little Astronaut Moles with tethers as long and thin
As sentences which dangle endlessless as the night.
Have you ever seen a Baby Aztec Mole Astronaut
Just woken up in the belly of mixed media courting
Disaster as a funky Tornadic Count Tengu-Washingacula?
They stare quizzically, the glass glyphs surrounding
Their face plates are lit up and they remind you of
Grandma Moses, Ronald Reagan and Mr. Magoo
Crossed with a tiny purple baby kangaroo with
Obsidian Darth Vader Cigarette Lighter head.
They walk alone like T.S. Eliot in that trough
Which to them is the great wall of China.
Every once in a while one of them will mumble,
"I have been consciously undone in this.. Someone
Has deliberately fixed the position of understanding
Beyond this trough of sugary banal grub-plug analogues.."
In the 1920's, South American Radio
Was like a big pair of breasts that everybody
Wanted to see. When the little Mole Astronauts
Finally get drunk at the end of their journey,
Spider-Crow Cannibal-Nose Labia will painlessly
Slice their hologram heads with aluminum
Tarantula feather machete's called Something-
Special Yodelling-Anthropologist's 1970 goofy
Disco shades, everybody has an ink-jet printer
In opera atrium with giant glass birdcages dripping.
