Go with your head to the bottom of the sea
I
Go with your head to the bottom of the sea
Go with your head bowed lightly, do not sarcastically
Raise an eyebrow, voice, or future flag of this
Crowded nation under your eyelid, do not sleep
Casually, do not move mountains under the blanket
With your fist, your knees bent, your ruffled sheets
Curled up in a ball of fists, your bent, broken nightmare
Slightly bent, your broken balls, broken, bent, repentant souls
Re-potted, soiled and uprooted, broken, do not casually walk
Or storm the camouflaged encampment of fellow items
Do not brown or storm the rage with your worries
Do not forget – the fury in your soul is frightened
Of you, and not you of it. It is loved and ragged, two-toed
Sloth of angry envy for your feelings lost at rage
And its eloquent two-pronged hammock, swinging
Back and forth in the Southern breeze, it sways
Moving in an arc of fits to capture born tatters
Of a flag you’re moving underneath, a capital
A series of materials you wished to worship
One day left behind beyond the grafting skin
Tight worshipper, You followed, one day behind
II
The mask, wearing brilliant features of your torn
Brother garments to those officiated chances
Torn out of gutters, rent and broken, offices
Of chance: torn gull, wing-guiled and fenced
To be broken with fenced-off gutters. Piss
III
In the fluidness, take off your chance
Remove the filtered garment, district, horn
Haze, blare, glazed-eye in socket-smeltered light
A honing sharpness, eloquent and nazi, blazoned
With a family hilltop: crested bitterness and funeral
Trapped in smoke. Fantasy fissured and lightened
IV
Loaded, pictured, locked and smolder: chance per gain
Per capita, icon melded force-incumbent particular
Festive capita born and raised in Isis, married
On the fifth, on a day in May, on a hitched-up pony
To a horse on the right, a post for wary betrayers
V
Turn up and down the light noise catalogue. Repent!
Up in the hill tower, spread your thick tongued idling
Portrait up and down the tremulous border crossing
Tumble every which way up and down your bio
Your voices like acrid desert sand-dunes, like a
Bitter monopoly, sense. Spit out everything acid
And daydream everything re-morgued
VI
Our chances at survival, footing, busted, bested bastard bliss
Becoming brain. Billowing. Nazis, breaches, britches, bitches, brass
And buttons, bitten bullshit brawn-bucket blisters, banter disbanded
And dissipated, delinquent deliveries disturbed out of late
Night hours through Current Affairs. Go top off your list.
Go smog the fortress with your wish-wash currents
Toppling the milk duds piss-ant pitch for perforated,
Percolated perch-pleasant piddle-puddle filth, and Ply
Your weaknesses, pent your aggression up, purse your teeth
And ferry your own lips: swoon – on a dog catching, dream-splitting
Headache. Piss on my asshole, shoulderblade, career pissed off
You sister-in-brain, my in-laws don’t wander off
Wondering the daybreak dew away
Or slip snapped in half off the carried-on-away out-of-here
For daybreak to shout any kind of disturbed peace
Of fiction, and them again. I could take over any kind
Of world, but then, the end. The end. The end
