My
name is Fantasy
Jones
I’m open to anything
My
wings are prophecies of light
I
stand in my bones lamenting the loss
Of
stationary and every hand
Is
a being swimming in granulation
Subtleties
of ripple and letters
Streams
of consciousness
Cutlery
and the circumference of the mind
Which
is cooked in reminiscence
Pain
is sexual emotional comedy
There
is silence and birthdays
And
there are adjectives for this
But
I’m not sure what they are
If
it jingles it’s cool that’s all I know
I
touch the sky and it cracks
Into
mustard it’s only natural
To
go naked on a beach
Feeling
our blood attach to the seclusion
Sexual
somersaults in eucalyptus eggnog light
Fiddlesticks
Mouth and Brain Canvas go by
Talking
of monsters in their money
I’m
cut deep from a drop of sunlight
In
corduroy and glue and when I get dressed
I
pull waterfalls out of the drawer
And
contusions of idealism
I
get angry quite often reality is a bitch
The
world is full of confusion push-ups and starch
How
does anyone know what they’re doing
My
existence on paper reaches for your eyes
And
understanding and I feel its power when you
Unroll
your mind in the water
And
float to the stars like a dream on the prairie
Luminous
in opposites Portugal to your socks
I
agree to nothing but salvation
And
a blast of fingers in a fist of summer
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