In the white of any eye

Monday morning
Comes clattering down on me
Like pots and pans
In a ventilation shaft

In the white of any eye
Hang by their rigging
From the moon

She arrives at the white of the eye
Banging on it with her fists
But how, all I see is a
Chimpanzee standing quietly there

In the white of any eye
Are the cave paintings
Made by hyacinths

Lonely laughing seagull
In the dairy milk mountains of the sky

I pull two caterpillars inside out
Mistaking them as socks

My legs burn beneath me
Like goalposts under a flame thrower

Looking at my belly I wonder
Why can’t I digest that huge railway station clock
That I swallowed whole

She makes a great appointment with me
Seem like a day with the KGB

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