Northward and across the blind melon we drift <br />without acceptance but with our radiant cheese <br />some swift delicatessen lent to these avenues <br />a portmanteau of our own awakening <br /> <br />In these nights that shine like lacquer <br />the parchment of his idiocy was music as <br />a blender mixing the final drink seals your dismemberment <br />gives restitution to the cleft bosom of astonishment <br /> <br />I have seen you burst forth as if a comely ham <br />upon the scene and pronounce there, “who are you to <br />act the impresario, ” and “so-and-so and so forth” gouging <br />night with radiant eyes that have paper centers <br /> <br />Upon the electric grass fields of your nascent consciousness <br />an idea is dimly napping, that you have neither <br />underwear nor ample equipment to satisfy your mistress <br />poetry is another matter and altogether stranger <br /> <br />Stranded as we are upon cartoon horses in a desert <br />let us join hands and descend <br />toward the final night that glistens at the pool’s bottom <br />crashing like movie stars in vintage cars over misunderstood cliffs.<br /><br />Larry Sawyer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/comely-ham/
