Fin

Nocturne now, the grand scheme of Greek
crouched behind Suez Canal and all beneath
Float with me, despite the British teen beat
That’s why it is: we drown in profane mead.

We are on the alley-oop of desperate straits,
Wide-open, splayed across the loom, (and Facist-free?)
Collective: WE, HUMMING an impacting turn of phrase
contempt in summerfacing trenches, winged seeds.

Grandfatherless prisoners in a moveable fortress:
derelict militarily in the southernmost way
civil war imports and dishonorable distress
Our babies: to be blue buttoned shirts on display

island hopping, then it was the Battle of Crete
fingers over the many years after the pamphlets
of chidesome Martin Luther’s “whoa”ing bleats
Now, the Spirit installed to speak in past tense.
These vibrations: a parboiled, caustic Europe
enveloped in CORNERS of the EARTH resistance
soldered Beethoven “who’s who” telescopes
intervening with curly-haired Queen patent stamps

Oomlatz! Paraguay? Kant and Spreading
O’er 2 weeks.  Our personas (home), war: Coitus interrupter,
repleting, Germans with no words for feeding
and concrete, too many Mouths singing for their supper!

Our fins, our entombed porpoises on leave, bottled,
hardboiled, fur on forlay to reset in the sector of PATIENCE
our darlings, my darlings, your darlings, N. Africa hot held!
It is Rinse & Repeat with these ranch hands, paid by the pence!

Like Prime Ministers installing suicidal Prime Ministers
bogged down by a simpler Winston mink maid model
jostling phrases to jot down for ghostly swing hipsters
They say, “SWING HEIL!” They say, “cool your jets, Otto.”

Remember when we bathed in Baths?  We ate in La Piazza
Le Métro: ate apples off the backs of oxen when Picasso
DID NOT paint his last breast in Spain.  Women who cussed!
Women who named kids after us when our suds were so narrow?