give me the head of a daft persistent into-the-ground runner
who rhymes heart with part cypress with red dead with hyacinth
scrapes his spilling confidence back together bending down

and won't stop organising stumble tours down trodden paths
tossing banana rhymes ahead he's imperturbable
half and off he calls them magic cobbles look

a bad joke told by a poet the way he rants and raves
leaping up sometimes for no reason snatching handfuls of air
but not always no not always and I prefer him far more

a thousand and one times more than scrimping king holland
with his battened modern voice behind his spiky table
wheelchair and handbrake no I'll manage or damage myself

also I loathe oracles of the order of the chocolate defecationists
pouring forth their broad brown nile certain of their own infallible delusion
confection-crapping a true vatican box full of chocolate liqueurs

I believe

in velure petals the ruined carmine of the sun's setting
the splendour-driven backward flight of the quetzal
his long emerald green tail awkwardly radiant for her

his ridiculous ostentation favouring life over death
and I believe in utter love it says what it says as if it doesn't

compared to liberian rebels gang rape is poetry too
I am attached to froth in all vanity I bear my night like a pouch