The D.J. On The Radio Is Chatter From A Marionette’s KnotHole
With The Chronologic Of Sweetened Tea And A Wallet’s Leathery
Despair,
A Glass Cougar In A Tree With The Signals Bristleing His Whiskers,
One Slip Of The Tongue Could Dissolve The Articulated Illusion,
His Broadcast Of PreOrdinance And Its SoundTrack To Better Living
Through A Guarded Royal Arch Leading To His BackYard Dynasty,
To Roosts Where His Dogs Sit To Keep The Grass From Getting
Sun-Burnt,
His Sonic Stutter To Shelter The HomeLess Muse For Her Green Men,
A Performance In Monotone With Slight Accentuation On Trigger Words
Produceing Egg-Layers To Twitch Their Heads While He Roams Freely On
The Wire…
…
Seeking Landing Strips In The Vista Of AirWaves And Condensation…
…
…
He Comes As The Spirit Of Sunday,
Cooling The Feral Brows Of Morning Sickness,
Easeing The Suffering Of Alcoholic Coal-Miners With His Waters,
He Has Risen From The Bread To Guide The Lost InTo Fields Of Heather,
Violet Vibrations From A Swaying-Bridgeing Trust Over The Friday
BeFore,
To A Saturday Of His Hand Tilting The Creamer InTo Cups In Saucers,
With Button Eyes And Stuffing For Friends Gathered Near,
Easter… After Easter… After Yesterday Has Been Slowed Down,
His Muttered Addition In ReVerb To Be As God To Lactation And
Imagination,
Just To Keep Peckers Loyal To His Tree.
More at http://rwkt.blogspot.ca/2014/08/the-bread-also-rises.html.