Daffodil

Nicety’s dogleg slaps the fragile hornmouth,
a pile of winsome idiocy
ineluctable as cougar.

My time’s my time, a beady daffodil
lipping the musculature of the floorboards.

The pious homunculus rises out of the heuristic
labia — ineducable crabmeat, concentric
and edgy as a glandular commuter.

My time’s my time, elaborate as cocaine
and twice as misty: dogleg… mist… sarsaparilla…

Fuck you, pious Calliope! Dogmatic hutch embryo!
My time’s my time! The flagrant pawnshop diva
wiggles under the floorboards. An aurora of chablis
fills the room.

Fictitious, the doric geyser rises
out of mournful acrobacy
into the purest possible
hexadecimal
chomp.