Whos the monster, can?

Who’s the monster cant breath flowers in the sudden day death stands its name I am wondering about that this and the other where it clasps the brigade the braid of hair falling off your face on the subway death escapes you everyday hum of the big city its portentous needs a death mask for me.


Me? What is me 'that' seems so strange bodies bodies
elusive Eleusinian bodies hang me hang me brother __hand me the spitting over cash where you where you
splinter down the seed of its darling
cash pay the bills conceal the cache the cache
of a moment where you spread steel working
in the prose moment of its detail
a slipped away over the board word
casting away the depths to the soul, the soul.
what they name the soul and its falling
asleep molds alabaster and dope like
Ann-Marie’s smile that many years
back decades now grow death in the
sludge of its richess sort of like French
and my sobriety my drunkenness is a
song off the harpsichord of this Radio
that I escape my misting name your face
the other faces off the page molecules filtering the view the typewriter clacks Ramboo and FlamMan the MoonLan and SeeMan of the BooCan the water man woman woman womban man in his clutter pan Or the ice tray as when the night is a hun a humming bird saw the old saw creeping up and spitting in your eye! what bother of casing in this rifle aimed character mixes up the names ambles dizzy spells headaches tooth aches to the name early readings and other special deals you got going with heaven where in heaven our bodies dance they dance yes they dance dance figurine of heaven all my hearts against pounding in the beat of your failure grabs the inward file rushes the carousel of right and wrong night and day its word a hemming grab on the stitch of night

Over on the other side Pat dying and its name hanging in the dust your mellow moment the preacher’s song oh that song that redevils the wave of its lip slides the porch hands her a brooch of pearl and mother of laugh the girl the dame in quite a bit of distress she was dying of a special kind of disease the kink of language someone else says I am a lord of it lord of her verbs and swings the mood noun and jocose as the terrible pause between the danger eyes I proud the simile instant



On the spot of its terrible eye
dragon pencilled and flagon face