Scott Ferry

drydream 

i wake up one morning with my mental cereal
in the fridge and my milk in the cupboard
my penis holds up my glasses
my eyes gauze in prayer
i have already begun to slip
worms in mouths and tongues on hooks
the arrhythmias have foretold it all along
if i flip it along the purkinje fibers
the heart becomes an insular sun
don’t forget to clean up
the semen on the catastrophes
i haven’t even cum yet and i’m already asleep
so the changes have begun crow craw on
vinyl and thelonius twinkles through the
tinkle i don’t reason this is a slack-kneed prophecy
that this is a foreskin lantern of lost gods
i can’t shake the rubbertongue
can’t breathe without cost can’t dance
without rubbing some nipple can’t wash
this electric fence with holy hoses and yes
when i wake i am a lobster in an egret suit
with a case of dildos and a jesus bicycle
i can’t ride either so this must be
another broken river regurgitating
milk-bloated sirens all their eyes
coins

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