lassoes of whiskey sprouting

seventeen spells of easter
over the flying zone
i didnt do nothing wrong
just didnt get travelling right
overhead i saw the zone
clear as a clockwork sky
battery acid trip
out of counters out of space
where the blades go out for dinner
rocking in their wake
their usefulness spent
the washtubs dry
camels in the furnace
daniel at the y
tmi doing the preaching
lesser than one son away
afterwards there was nothing left
just a checkstand or two
a few fountains overflowing
rabbits in the bin
chicken out the stew
water trickling over
the news stains of night
eyeballing washtubs full of innuendo
and the rocks cracked where the roads met
pigging up iron rolling like steam
there was nothing in their removal
except for me, except for me
spaceships ask why
punctuation litters the sky
sauntering sideways leaning on the bricks of the exchange
washing swimming pools dry
missing the casual hi
as boats boad disaster
angels speak the holy ghost
and hint makers take odds
bringing the steam together tying up trucks
there wasnt much of a beating
just two or three and the lettuce
no rest, supplies are long long gone
its just an expression of my impression
wandering fields wondering where to land
as the fights came fishing sideways
never before noon with the kickstands
setting houses on fire
picking nostrils of their mind
bringing up the damage
in pails of water
washing buffoons slip bananas
looking for ordinary language when
complex dont flow
upstream downstream my naughty dream
the doors were left open
there were lassoes present
into the shade where the grasshoppers lie
clear winter moonshine sensitized gums
bristle with mud and lake forest streams
toads croak the rocks dreaming
and the chair receding
holing up for the night
just receiving
as the wine grew hot and the ground grew cold
lassoes of whiskey pouting
its time for bed
spine tingled covers rope the night
as the sky walked out.

denis streeter 8/8/10