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.