more teeth

It's Tuesday. A nihilist with a pretzel-shaped brain
dreams midnight mushrooms, a magical mand
"evolving the way to greater perfection"
       verbal behaviour, another row of teeth

Up
in the ship's spinning top, mast mangling the stares
hunchbacked and eyeless Gemini desire
despite their dark shame      blue moon fills the frame
Bloated by vegetables and airy spirit
gently or violently, alas, politesse
my turfy left thumb, I let slip    into a thing both rich and strange
a piece of virtue cribbed from sounds afeard
ooze and indignation      "Hell is empty and all the devils here"

Wednesday, the state totters, third thought of the grave.
Lest he be accounted an extravagant freak
He speaks. "Horsepee and the drunken butler!"
Flipside, the idling angels yawn
inventing reasons for their breathing.
Crassest of trespasses. Reruns on. Satellite dishes like cactuses
cover the grey lawn.