81 Poop Hatch

My eyes are burnt and bleeding and all that looks like
a monkey on a silver bar …
big poop hatch with a cotton hatch â€" hatch holes
that the light shows in and the light shows out …
and the little red fence …
and the wire and the wood …
and the barbs and the berries …
and the tires and the bottles and the caruponrims …
and the heat swims on its fenders and the dust collects
and the rust of autumn surrenders into gold …
trumpet poop on the ground with peanuts its bell was
blocking an ant's vision …
and the mice played in its air holes and valves …
a ladybug crawled off its mouthpiece standing out red
and blacked its wings and blew off to a flower …
its hum heard just above the ground …
black dots were hung in what turned out to be an olive
tree that originally held a tree house full of a building
with one small window …
birds and broken glass and tiny bits of newspaper …
"My sun is free from the window," said the god the green dabbers …
rice wires mouse tins and milk muffins …
cereal and stone …
matches and masks and mace and clubs …
and splintered shaft light intrigues a cricket on a dust jeweled penlet …
cobwebs collect down plaster run into a hole and find
collected glass that drinks the reflection of midday
afternoon midway between telegraph lines …
a silver wing â€" a cloud â€" a rumbling of a cloud …
a crowd of various violins strum from next door through
my wall into my ear obviously artificial …
neighbors laugh through sandwiches …
Harlem babies â€" their stomachs explode into roars …
their eyes shiny with starvation …
spreckled hula dance on my phonograph …
my door rattles windy …
sand wears my rug shoe and taps on the unheard finish
of an hourglass I cannot hear …
a typical musician's nest of thoughts filter through dust speakers …
"Why don't you go home? Oh Blobby,
are you great," exclaims two lips in some jumbled rock
‘n' roll tune and wears a spot I cannot scratch …
the surface of a friend …
this high book a friend laid on me …
on the couch relaxing in the corner behind a still
life pond with plenty of bugs and lily pads slurred
in mud banks and boulders tin cans and raisins warped by thought …
strain on the spoon like a wheat check â€" check Bif
â€" cotton popping out of his sleeve …
poop hatch open â€" big poop hatch with a cotton hatch
â€" hatch holes â€" got to pick up the horns …
but the head won't move until it walks