Hi Ho

A candy-sucker and sifter of salt
     that stiff man locks the door.
The soul
     a notional convenience suggestive of a potentiometer
paces the empty parking lot
     eating sweet rice and the fumes of activity.
Gulls gulling, galling the ganderer.
"Litter of disregard, dear baby, fields of heave-ho hum mightily"
you say, and my mouth with the yellow mush spills out:
"if the flying saucer is your enemy
     then the frying sausage is your anemone"
and I've ruined the ecology, which is steam in the sun. O
beautiful child, you've become a vessel for an ugly one!
     And here we are, together on the typewriter
dialled up past 30, socks still on
     lumps invective and larger particles
ready to go out and launch a greater misunderstanding
that will never die, we can breathe, only float away
     at a rate equalling or exceeding market currents
the water to follow, the fingers trailing
     mostly free-flowing, I guess wounded but clean.