Unre(a)d/unfed (drink that gravy you skinny b****!?).

The blue – jacketed Bhagavad Gita

& the red Rimbaud’s “A Season in

Hell”

Hot & Cold taps

Non-respectively

Obviously

Sitting bedside with wavied pages

Soaked in spilt drinks & gravies in

stages

(The gravy made grimoires even still more sagacious!)

Splitting the atoms in brain cells

for ages

They perfectly well mean nothing

to me, sitting and soaking in sunlight

& free

Arthur, heading south,

comes out the mouth

of people of letters & poems & grunge

to persist in purusha (पुरुष) to perish so young.

Poor people who’re powders now,

at them don’t lunge.

Also I’ll say

The sea of mouth-corners should really

be curled (That is the World.)

(I) Stumble in, scaring crows from behind theatre curtain

unfurled, to mind under mantras as everything’s

Whirled

(back to the brightest of pearls

such as these).

Bees should make cheese please, not

Honeys, and proper

stinkie ones .

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