Dogs with the teeth and eyes lost
Sprawl on the liquid roofs, bound to hear
Screams of prehistoric birds wrapped in the skies.
They don’t sense ghosts delivering dead butterflies
To the back door of the barbershop.
But it is certainly possible, they think,
To heal the shy by clipping God’s hair
In front of them. Would you listen to
The screech of the shears?



5 thoughts on “shears

  1. “dogs with the teeth”
    I thought OMG it must be true
    I got testimonials on the brain
    all day long the detectives mention testimonials
    at the spa they offer therapeutic testimonials
    they even tackle the stubborn ones
    for $250 one can experience immanence of the flesh
    ———–not dictionary immanence
    anatomically or otherwise
    prehistoric or otherwise
    detachable faces or not
    caveman plastic surgery
    all those daydreams
    of looking exactly
    like the daughter
    of Johnny Cash
    ———————-flesh moving seamlessly
    ———————-the hymen like superman


    • what the hell are you talking about
      for a nickel one can experience
      the miracle of being nothing
      like a band that has played for 29 years
      and has only one fan born in zimbabwe
      what a guy what a beauty
      but the greatest tragedy is
      that the truest caveman was not our ancestor

      just give me that nickel okay? if you can


    are you the nickel man ?
    I’ll say one thing
    you sure caused a headache over at Merchant-Ivory
    you falsified that trailer of your life story
    all the special effects
    that crazy vixen sexpot
    wildly overacted
    genitals run amok
    something to latch on to


  3. a woodman in the morning
    a waterman with a watermelon in the evening
    as if I don’t know about artificial flowers
    or being crushed under the wheels
    of old age
    I shared one of your dreams last night:
    to write cocktail-party poetry
    a room full of book-cluttered guests
    probably orphans or almost orphans
    wards of the state—bars on the windows
    mass birthday parties with dusty cakes
    life was a contest—WHO COULD LOOK RATTIER ?


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