His tongue forks, but no denying
his form is human, mostly.
Oh, he has such an ivylike voice that can sound
to any ears unblocked with firewalls!
Crawling like invertebrates, it foists into
the grand blue-sky dreams of lesser mortals,
and the throbs of its erected tentacles can perforate
their gold-fringed clouds into honeycomb,
leaving the land of honey and milk
deluged with muddy water.
Distance caves in
and souls are nullified because they have never been
registered by names;
the King of Hades is an actor, lazy by nature,
and likes to recite obscure lines from famous playwrights,
therefore his Book of Numbers is understandably intercalated
with blank pages and red dates.
Statistics feed on fleshes and produce manure
of high potency, so rich in hormone
that the law of energy conservation is out-of-date day by day
in a gigantic hot balloon.
He can smile a smile, cry a tear and smile another tear or smile,
seamlessly as if there is no smoothing-out,
while those terror-driven arms cling
to the anesthetizing sucker of a super-size leech
that ripples toward the foggy other side of sound.
They cannot feel their own hands feeling for themselves.
April 28-29, 2010