Marketer of all the worlds,
expert tap-tapping on backs,
I melt my reflections,
paste wet ash to the canyon's throat,
mingle with pepper and raspberries,
drowning my passenger side soprano
in a velvet monotone,
planting ball bearings in the wounded earth,
mopping the corridors of power
with unexpected grace,
standing at the continental bridge smoking,
with a feelings of power in my loins,
my wallet and my chicken bucket,
swearing myself to the high moon,
dangling plastic abysses
from my favorite necklace of wheat chaff,
enumerating on olives of sleek many
in different kinds, smacking oil between
lips and fingertips like an enraged panda
shocking the pink and brown planets firmly awake,
puffing herb on a footrest, a moss descent,
a skullshaped rock or a frozen playpen
tear ducts pasted to some woman's footsteps
drowned hunter of mussels
crawling thatches to the rigged stash
of a tail-smacked hut.