FROM The Myriad Salad Reef

A Green Bestiary

"It is certain that fine woman eat
a crazy salad with their meat".
W.B Yeats

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Lines in the grid are green, but not to eat.


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Food must be, she says, an ethereal entrance.


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Thoughts in the screen straydog looking
for sooth. Wanna be happy eating salad solo
like a fool in the hill, enjoying the silence, taking deep breaths,
eat the world sovereign.

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Frog could be god if it were called dog (sorry Stan).


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Notice that there are wires in the plate, hairs faintly femenine,
notice that there are faces forming, memories in the wilderness,
whispering.

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The antilopes doom is that it loops


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Notice novia supernova, notice the moustache of a funny mustang warrior,
notice mustard calling for wanton gold. Notice invisible birds sharing the dressing
and warbles of world and flying together remotely true, like daydream in school.
Notice a lace, a white bonnet, a flower. A chance of garland and vegetable paths in the sky.


(mayhap that mind -mayhappy- would like to climb
the lines (as there is no end to a mountain but climb)
for what is to fly? but perhands to cling
to instruments from stars, sweet violaser from the Crab,
waterfall harpischord from the Swan, can you softly brush
the silver string of sea and moon when u-abyss,
like Geronimo, that to cloud is floating horse?
In regards to flying that perplexed angel of playing,
when eating sacraments is choir. A green chance,
like the march-hare, lettuce-teeth, or mushroom
spin, that digs a hole in lapislazuli, cloves to moon
and sinks in, from carrot rocket or caring food.
Makes place in higher space from pulleys and latch,
the cabbage jettisoned waltz of calling match.
Mirror cable-finger, mirror wing-rib,
upheaves from the pin gettin in.
Or a sort of design of beads or rootless
leaves synched by pole, cluster or stalk.
That to levitate is to find a hook where your nose
can breathe sunyata and dakini mint.
That invisible rope the snake used
to the stars calling it bird.




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I thought a greenhouse effect would be cool,
i like parties in haunted houses where glow-in-the-dark girls
candyflip and grin at ghosts that could be me.

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One of the most beautiful skies i saw was emerald green,
it was a grassy mirror of siesta dreams.

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In my dream a blue deer held an eternal sun
over a dissolving hill.

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Deerdived (died) but eternal rised for sun dyed
sailing keys: that transformation is the stillness of being,
all remainings a rainbow yielded trick, so
sun pale green in the ground, naked feet desertsea,
a medusaspring, molusc-like in cactae guise,
seeming is appearing in parallel coral,
LOPHOPHORA WILLIAMSII he sprang to say hi!!!
little antler coils cricket my eye
the little hikuri fountain,
sun or babydragon,
where from marriage of spirals,
thelema tells a truth
for in my dream kernel
can eat the key to wake
from eternity into a river.

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To me mercury, modify.

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The marakame said "in my lineage all flowerdum fronts,
my own, turn into deer popps, but oh how would i dream
to become a wolf that runs away from the fire-circle-song,
and roams alone".

Tired perhaps of that old same-old song, if only we would create
without stepping stone, the runaway gold.

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Hamlet said " Bounded in a nutshell I could count myself king of infinte space",
past, perhaps, past spies, visitors from outerspace, scratchs,
windowpanes, institution bells, Ophelia cries, Orpheus's laments,
King of a Blackhole-Sun, divinely, exactly, mad, knowing the hologram,
in the rabbithole, flyingsolo in the silence of his father.



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The Shoplifter after many runs or crescendos of bold champagne on the keepers face, comes to realize
that it could be his shop.


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Plucked the golden bough.


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Hamlet and the Marakame meet at the crossroad of autosky and join to say
" Lets go back"
" We could start a war"
"Kill the king"
"Eat the sun"
"Say a lie"

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Ennui, melancholy, stop. Go to the store.

Paranoia wolf, potato.

Crazy ham.

Bring me a chocolatebar withe name of a star.

I wanna rest in the first microwave, burrito zar.

Goodbye, i found a vortex in myself.

If the sun was not made of butter, this war could stop.

Sinsemilla is not possible. (fuck dont i believe more in the egg).

Everything is vain.

Can you laugh at your mask.

Or bake an apple-pie without the universe.

I always thought riding ferrari-cliches that monks would come to the store
and parade in thrash and sodapop and show you bliss and satory and carelessness,
for cherry and not either/or, girls that would come with them following their robes,
in a wink of the eye at the register for paradise is everywhere.

And all you could utter, surmounting the whole of your beings was "could you pass me the lighter".


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Throw around the greenEris in the kitchen synch, the waffle warp spacekiss.
Spinach silk. seal spinal chords with forking frogs. Rub muffindub. morphine maidday.
Secret airplane. silverspoondream. House of Surprising Herbs, flying dates. daisy dazzling gate.
Reefer Decrees.


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Axis-mundi in the salad secret pulse.
Axis -mundi in the store behind superstar candy.
Axis-mundi in the body where you would connect the gadget.

For flying tree, for flying weaved
for eating deep, sap blood light
and climbing inside
quartz planet star

axismundi jellyfish
in the the plate near gazzelles bursting cells
and blue deers quetzalads grapes silence
near fingers photons skypole telephers
or buttons green strings of float on
(omphalos coopt the laser lady's code)))
play start zap surf multiple choice spider
the arm remote dappled by incipient
gossamer glowing fairy joints

like blue cheese sauce

scattered
over a green hill
or a green belly

blue cheese like freckles
on the face of a flying saucer


or feathers of another bird


scattered


the girl

the grid

the lock