El Egg

Germ Philosophy






Attics of incorporated sound tweak motif

and I candlestick the foragers for canvas forgeries

where those birds end piercing evenings in lyric's torn sky

the coffers stiff as ventholes in a masked array

benching mums for connoisseurs of humdrum strum and stress

arcs in eclipse, heterodox in spurs, o doctor!



If the land is mined, hove in ambience sticklers

in suspense of matted action automatically suspect

the rudimentary as a grandiose incline, work the highway,

the thoroughfare is thoroughly your affair, constant magnet,

strew your jets through a torrid wilderness to rid it

of circumspection, deltas of light full of it, full of it

thirsty night, jeweled amps and anthems

silt through the overt as time's vertical greensleeves

confuse the chameleons with the sham icons of helicon

wasted on the autofocus of vamoose nicked in the vanish

of words policing words for policies of neglected fizzle.



I like your music better when you smoke cigars.

It helps me concentrate my emotions on your green-yellow

color blindness. Colorfast tears soak through your sunglasses,

more concerned with what you is than who you are,

hip-hop bunny with bellicose bellies spangled for manx,

manipulators and idolaters, lollipop gags, sight's gag reflex

of eyes for throats behind the scenes where helicopters

go uphill, and when I see you again in Cocteau paradise

they'll show movies till there's no more dark for the sun to mar

the margin of the horizon, tickle for sticklebacks, cuckoo for cocoa puffs.



You, scratching mimes, adoration at a thousand flippers per minute,

how much did they charge you for that discharge?

Disgorge, you discalced, shoeless in sox, intoxicated.

My blue sky sublime as your black sun, color my world

reduced to the universe of Toronto, Toto, still not enough

to see through "white people and they cigarettes," a blue

workshirt and an anubis advisory, bored with brilliance.



Catgut your karma, cello my word, necklace for lungs.

Catgut your cultural capital, mummified in toilet paper,

better your nape than the guillotine, bactine for hurts

band-aids for the crash and burn park.




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