Wednesday, September 06, 2006

THE SMOOTH FINGERS OF THE PHRENOLOGIST’S BABY

O Dark Warp of Back Pain, the Control Cheese Golem has once again performed an astonishing evocation of lost islands, all the while concealing from the brash accountant the blood red cowlicks of the Clown.

O dread Banjo Guardian, make the ballpoint phantasm of the lemonade stand appear to sign the deaf warrant on at least one of the triplets. Their feet are mired in escape breath, their lips are Aunt Alice’s sandwich shield. O Death Anteater, Devil Sheep, you are the Ethereal Ritalin Colossus gibbering Koala in the Homunculus Theatre of Miniature Thespians. The corn sheds its brazen husks, brandishing keen niblets of fear for the balsa milkmaid. Hear now! The flatulent beam of the Lounge Singer is bereft of warts. Beware the detergent wall!

But wait! The Kleptomaniac Jazz Djinn rises from my Underworld Drawer, mimicking a Manic-Depressive Succubus, the Spoon Ghost sinking deep into the staircase moon. By the Oubliette of Grammar, I call upon the Mighty Brain Peacock! O baths and feathers, O intoxication of pants! How can the Perfected Breakfast Monument halt the Pig-slop Jewel?

By The Five-fisted Toothbrush Grail, I call upon the Crowns surrounded in a nimbus of plastic teeth. I invoke the Evil Road where toes can find a finger, where a finger finds the flaming torus of noise. May the head flakes of the chimney sweep dispel the grim babysitters of the Coffee Blob, the Vaseline maelstrom of the Meat Giant. May the illuminated ooze of the clever dead absorb your thieving adulation, abjure your compassionate wolf toast in its sinuses. The mattress of ectoplasmic tartan shall lose itself in the howling milkshake mailbox, the used-car fantasy of your nomadic lungs. You shall find pinstripe famine in the grisly prismatic snail of your own nylon misery, while I, in the dark prehensile spats of my bean-jeweled flowchart shall return home, the litigious scudding of military rugburn turning my flagpoles to chariots, my fingers into the magnetic antennae of morose gymnastic nametags waving aside the glorious parade of firechiefs igniting their scrotal placentas in inclement victory.

1 comment:

cpannell3 said...

Nice poem for the New Phrenologists!