If I could speak with all the wild-eyed
courage of the damned,
I’d pour out tales as merry
and as sad as the heartbeat of a platypus
but I find myself dizzy
in the cool and fiery passion
flowing from your eyes.
The melting fragrance of their colors
is a source of madness
that engulfs the most severe of apes
and flings them in a swirling dance
across a floating abyss
of columbines.
I have drunk of this liquor
which flows out of your eyes
and my intoxication swirls
the worlds away
into the swinging arms
of gibbons
with hands of watermelons
and minds which dance through galaxies
of flaming ice and elegant poisons.
I do not want to lose
this ardent madness.
Where else do green wombats of desire
dance through the forest tops
with mouths of ice
and goblets full of fire?
Where else do the purple-feathered
birds throw apples from their nests
to the vagabonds who’ve turned their ears
to grazing antelopes
and thrown their collars to the winds:
No more!
And so I want forever
to ingest this fiery dawn,
the quiet, gentle storm
within your eyes
and yet I find chaotic feet
that draw me over distant landscapes,
and a mouth sewn shut
by parapets of silence
and control.
In this the heart,
grown monstrous in a storm,
explodes into a million shards
of distilled melting blue—
a monkey’s swirling tale
of pained desire.
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