poem V. in The Chelsea Chronicles
slipping down from ecstatic
into the calm understatement of bliss.
rides its own horse-
the threat of happiness.
Sinister treads the heartbeat,
regular and full-fledged.
Then your porcupine smile
replaces her with heart,
reduces ego to mud;
and life filters through blood.
The little and mister devilish
masters conciliation of the spiciest recanters,
monkey core with ticklish.
You’re better off
where honeysuckles proliferates
new visions of her.
You’ll need remembrance on the galloping trail,
to cradle your body
with draconian bliss.
Cool your blocks before stepping in,
so her feathers won’t hurt you.
She’ll dot your eyes
and you’ll cross her teasing contagion
with cramped ridicule and haughty marauding.
And finally, wherewithal will ensue.