by pat a physics
Rocky, green lids on top of jelly fish eyes
biking with trembling hands after a night of whisky
and sleeping bag sleep rocks.
Talking apparatus without batteries installed
gliding swiftly amidst the sound of barking sea lions
who communicate effortlessly.
A suggestion dancing from the tree limb lips
of the shotgun dancing in dead faces that collect in the foaming,
sea water sky of smiling skulls.
Community sorcery could reverse a body of water
to run up hills, stabbing through the breast of a good state
like a vermiform hydro-frankfurter, but
God can’t even get power trip power lines in a grid form
to tell secrets to a flaming sea horse prince
who chariots a Cheerio across the screen.