Weird Science


An Italian Poem Upon Adam’s Naming the Insects
       I sliced open the superior of the two complex genitalia
of the fluttering blue red-butter leak-vines of ingathered foliage
and fiery June’s (or is it Eve’s or Eva’s?) protein candelabra
lit upon the bolt of her Byzantine gate. 
Paper pebbles…
       Her averbal cueing begins the hunt for sparrows, 
O my covert,  languid and gas-sponkied campaign manager,
the God-moth owns a lovely Mexican villa, 
I hear chimes in the Sahara
imitated by the contraction of 3 chordata
pinned to the “normative sphere”
muffled by leather sacks of whiskey.
       Dreams displace gold scales
in the Pastoral Parallax,  and self’s stone throw
requires nature separate from anxiety—
eyes congenitally grown together
and breathing low in the panda bureaucracy
with a bag-like growth upon the abdomen.
       Or rather a blue-black constellation
of several thousand cyanotic bag growths
of the baptismal form in her body
trebled and trembled,  shyly murmuring
in the Crystal Palace
near the exhibit of Iowan cedar weathervanes
and japanned images from Rousseau
hung above the twins’ beds
as the God-Moth’s bitter chocolate eyes
watch them in their candy basket.
       His insect-head bowed in respect or hunger,
black-lipped steel leaves the consistency of flesh
where her nipples are leased feelers
that I come to seek in a pyramid of silverfish
that crawl upon the complex genitalia
of the fluttering blue,  whose burnt wings are painted panels
of  a toy paradise
gone quite to seed.
Then I eat the seed.