WHAT THE DOVE DIDN’T SEE

After the last storm outside the leaking ark
relieved of fug and camels
of all Gutemberg galaxies and whole earth catalogues
the book of the tea ceremonies sad
and eaten up the tempting icing
-a Petrarchian sonnet
become thicker in Milton’s oven
(nothing of priapean, just a pastry to the greedy Protogonos
Eros) -

Laura and the maidens mentally retired into gooeys and bibs
to tap what happens inside a totem’s mind and a womb expanding:
for years they saw his rarefied tyranny
to dispatch a pencil-shaped-fully-fledged flame-thrower to order
GO BACK STRANGERS.YOU AIN’T FROM THIS BORDER
with other blunt instruments from silence fallen
on slate frowns,
parasols and trowls

and elaboration. Therapeutic obstinacy
I daren’t hint at.
After properly closing the flooded screen of weeds,
on the riding track of the blood
and the lecherous drainage tube,
the heavy hoof-hand
manipulated potent words
to treat the terminally patient.

Wreckage.Heart pumping– according to every very logical choice –
would deeds and not messages
even if in the long run slow down the pace
and the amusement
lifts the weight
just to think of
godlike activities
are a real drain on savings.

Lengthways Dr.Shark seemed better than any Mr.Lizard
- what does not prolixity against a cutting remark -
but when the awkward cuss knocked at the door of the bathyscaph
(grown Methuselah from Noah)
and leaks and warps had not mended
and babies had dragged up
once again the beauty of the surface was that
it begins where ends.