Rainbow in a Soap Bubble

Peach blossom tinctured plastic
retains its 60’s bubblegum mod
exuberance.

Barbie is giving Birthday Dreams Kirstie a sangria cupcake flavored hand job.

I sip my red bull, fingering the fossils of sunshine and unicorns in matted, flaxen doll hair; I remember my salacious Lolita childhood wistfully, fondling it fondly.

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The Griffin’s Immortal Wish

The Moho oogenesis of oolong
night
reveals November leonides
falling lentissimo in major key.

Orion is in the stars,
scintillating like a moiling,
molecular
incunabulum in utero.

In the champagne quietude
of the sacristy, the Griffin holds
a golden revolver.

The chimerical creature
wants ichor for his blood;
he wants liquor for his pain;

he hopes his weapon
will spit flames and
make heaven’s cloud gates
swing open on hinges made
of souls;

He wants god to grant him
his immortal wish.

But behind these gates is
a cherub’s dark paracosm:

A legion of
sublimated summations
sleeps within a jeweled
catacomb.

These mathematical
figures are benthic angels
manacled in chains
of cosmic subtraction.

A witan monad
is the unbreakable lock
on the cirrus gates of
this blackish paradise.

At the heart of
the monad lock,
the circle of the earth
aligns
like seconds in the
winking hoop of a minute;

At the heart of the
monad’s minute,
the soul of mathematics has
maxillofacial light bulbs;

These lights in the mouth of
math’s soul blink out the
nonverbal meaning of life
via the quadratic alphabet.

This is the secret that
the Griffin craves,
but this is something
preternaturally beyond
his knowing.

From the Crypt Files: X, Y, Z

Here’s an old poem I dug up for you. Enjoy.

i.

Xanadu blooms

with Whitsuntide white

racemes of monkshood

ii.

the Yeanling yens

for the beautiful yeoman

in a xenolith of time

iii.

eyes in a yashmak drink

clean sweet liebfraumilch

watch a year of grace

float by on a xebec

ix.

Zabaglione is made

with wine sugar and eggs

in a deco kitchen

x.

zephyrs blow zizith

around ankles

somewhere in time