Colder Still

Crops falling from the earth to the ceiling

These small arms and white belly

And enormous undercarriage

The wax crayon illuminati

Our minds locked in dark sewer

Each finding less than before

Each counting the warm conclusions

Of the six buttons of sex appeal

Knowing full well that ice breaks when smoke rises

Sucked into a whole

The ever floating karma of fried blind dog of the street

Our purpose for the one and only

Green form eats small headed breaded shrimp

Allowing several coats of makeshift lolly

On a lolly covered felt

Shook with fear from lightning

Falling several times in the wrong place

Soaking up blindly the wings of our depression

Floating up shiny columns of grey green primrose algae

The piston awakes to a small tiny fire within himself

Forcing the unwanted part of his mind into tiny fractions

Each plied with coconut scissors

All content, yet somehow familiar to Mothers everywhere

It's been days now since my childhood dreams were fulfilled

With crystal canyons and opera myths -

Its thousand legs dribbling oil like may rain

Over all-coloured mortar from way back when

This gorgeous thigh is resting under his elbow

Reminds me of clotted cream

All bloody from strawberry tobbacco juice

Hard halo of polystyrene pillow talk

Mothers' milk cooking in the breat of paisley blue silk

Like a mind in labour

Bursting the waters of afterlife

Drenched in the warm hot river

Containing everything and nothing.