That Swept

“___ day when my jaw is gone
and tobacconist’s flower

root ash crop is in
too wired a bloom

(‘ex nihilo nihil fit’)
and extinguished off by
our arrested judgement’s

interruption of all
airy sequence of
epiphanic satori dreamings

pluck off ass-head bottoms
may prophesy on
the swallowed

lung as consequence
proffered this venture
in snide slide retort —

(whose punitive
imposition’s alliance
sacrificing grit for taste

of fresh lip to
knotted lock
is gone without

scorched shunning
under leaf in
ponderous bond

baubles thrown
to chorus for
blackest eye

and darted prawn;
Subsumes luminescent
red-orange shell

cut crayfish gems –
hatching the midday
theme’s ritual song.”)