This is a poem that I saw performed by the poet at the Bowery Poetry Club. I love that place!
------------------------------------------------
Fruit dump under the tree
Smarting tender
Under the sore why-me look a drool bedding noodle soup: worm-hitch
Wriggling gone from the grass no winds frisk
Collecting dry rivers, seas. The sea was no slake, cracked continent’s crustaceous parts drifted up creek. Said salt of the earth – it tastes like mud, looks like chocolate. (Ought it be allowed?)
Outgrown the fish juts
Glacier not much more than a hat tipsy on a lite draught
Blood, thirsty stalks faint streets
Air wavers at mouth
Toothless the well caves in
Lips do not blossom even if they meet
Speed with which air avages the plump
Yah Yah The eerious ways of God
Hot baker’s fleur de mal
