surrealism has won the day--

ain't the joyous marxbros movie

we thought it'd be

(er winged octopus...can't have a surrealist poem

without a winged octopus in there...)

otherwise turds buzz flies

bill knott commits suicide yet again by lying in the street

and jumping off the curb into the sky

and a large sun glows brown as an arclamp

under yet another chariot of the gods

that thinks we're a pit stop

on the way to some black hole

eating another universe 8 trillion light years away

I fear I will go down in the cataclysm

one of many

instead of being on top of Mt Kathadin

watching assholes float by

boy not ready for transcendence am I?

(why is that odd bearded face staring down at me

though a tear in the clouds?)

this is what happens when I've nothing in particular in mind

and various  transmissions float through my brain

think I'll put a sign on my forehead saying

"SHOUT---FOOL AT WORK"

and leave me at this keyboard while I go elsewhere

for real--

                                Content (c) 2008-2009 Philip Milito