Friar Turk's Ramblings and Poetry

break from this tornadoe rib
fashion from it something divine
or sublime
perhaps the crushed laugh of perfection

a swedish love song
or a pole in love with a strip dancers leg-honey
the money
gone so easily
yet not wasted or wasseled
grab your balls and howl at the wedding
a stones throw from Europa

The love I meant
went to this umbrella
Umbrella of brillo, asperdine and amphetamine
gutteral noises,
desperate fantasies
where is my coonskin cap, my unholy longing
my body vanished
shuttle cock and poppy seed
adventures unvanished

Like Salt-Water.... Joe

like salt water joe cutting up the Sun
with Hardened Hands he hollers for the Craw
Jackelyn Shandy holding Jack-hammers Up in the light
War
Peace of mind to be fed something like a metaphor
Cash change when you realize how longe we been here
Refining these shadows behind the electrical Structure of the Brain

I would posit a harp for wailing chromium blues, a drop in the bucket, a kicking can,
a guttural whisper---or from the gutter the kicked can kicks up against the skycan

Sell, sell, sell
Why buy when you aint got nothing to gamble it on
Nobody running anymore -- Just Boxing

"I care about things that matter"
She said with frollicking haste

My wet eyes, my sharp soul, the trust of years
Programmed for Fuck
or long nights Alone
Not Fried or Shucked (at least 3 months before the Indigo riots)

Spontaneously Deliver what was in the wings all along

It could have been Gods loneliest fool bartering an exchange of playwrites
Or Hipparchus holding up his Astrolabe at sunrise
The Redwood trees were planted by an ORACLE
And grew through
A Thousand Summers and Thrash

Oh where was the Stash of Rum and the hidden follies of opium??/-

There is an order of angels
that men barely recognize
only for their nakedness
their long betrayal of trust
their boomerang shocks

Always getting hit from the outside
just beyond the perimeter
sucker-punched
or drinking punch
anything for their brother

A crowd of shocked troops
beat down from bottom to top
and ghetto-fitted
or cream filled
with chisel sets in their
big spanking huts or raw noise chips flying

Banging out some new version of eternity
aiml3ess junk
shrines to unknown gods

??
22
a
cadences of mth
the hoot of the owl's tax
the beak peaking the hot shrou?d