Non Quixote

for my brother Michael, 02.28.63 - 06.05.00

WaxLips Chapbook #2
copyright 2001-2003 Glenn Becker

Contents:

1.
Thwarx the gal axes, heh, wax'n planets
strop, flaxing and, eh, flossing viz
ampulets, and a-mixin's tint wispies fluting
cavort, do they not? e.g. sho on:
darted ing lawn-low lights of even all o' bats,
strawberry-dun vumpires, shoo-sha
commotion in a, inna gnurling tumg.
Guhh, 'Ra' satin faxicles chrono clash
as we kranng! oud of the owl tunnel too, no
too, no need like an owld neighbor.
Surgeily sparteckled, crib-reft of sense rizzles
phrrt and blee, you'll hold my Tibit 'til
it twins and glazes, ever
ubrickted to that precipitous fall: zats!

2.
And'll hub me up, up whap! black spactrum down
paf! whichnever the Shi'ite framgents sincely, uh,
bastioned. 'Prime Minister L,' in-nascent,
itted kif a lot whomever spiced terrif.
W'all had a nicened bite, a bright bite-a-tube-to:
Are feet our down 'It,' dragging, lost, squeaking ...
or jest hairiffic and eggs? Hmm, Struxture. My 'snow
wyfe' whispers medicax, her fire
night bowl sun-orotund as any scarp
plaster, right? Oh, right! Key point. Stellate
tree of disks, whurkled in cockamamie night, high
gout of starrang tong-rungs down, placket flat
moistened, ohmonerous vein: a dust-distant finial
vibrates, hot ash potash, in in-immening bowls.

3.
Without need, nor tabbing excelsior
there's no island-fry of sal:
Ixion Asia ... act-blind, rams a hamhock,
o'er deal-a-wheel voodoo with witchhazel blondies,
that's so offsite, prawn, gum arabic
ex-'Sue St. Mycenae' fractals 'n' biscuit crappings
supreme, oil ub, puh, ubh, uppa broadaxe hangover. Shh!
Oil nil behooves the Roman ptomaine caul, a damp chimp
seeps, scythes Zero-Zero knots;
railing mouse pimps yon vase, corrals it, grated
'biz' craniotomy plaque paxile my outsourcing
zentrolius, excited Janissaries space farts
glow your brow hole, vary June-July didgeridoo
doodad bulketh thee, spinal glow back Yukon Squeeze.

4.
Here's Bitsko

... germ sentinel, eh? see
how m' prostate 'stensions circum thet sun-seed market!
Call me back, terrible tone cow & hard hand gestures:
wave the bearded, germed serpent, what (sough)
comes to me is what comes to me, notes
o' bite o' vowel pasta clean thro' the raisining dirt, falls, vine
fine comb tesselated in, dry quine
vaccination teal meters returned, gerbilled, to I don't care
fro' the solution, la la Queens' annuity dogs, two x femmes
intro' 'Dire Murgatroyd' inner pert scarves,
here's Bitsko: onna staunch 'n'
dry jihad: a stork-scalloped anther
gathers gnu frappeternity, whelping frenetic
kale, freak sap which rums tward her toe.

5.
Phantom doomality
of muffin and T-spoon, degrees
between marmalades? which
deja oui (deja whee?) is 'Thin-Mint
Stookey' done a retro-onus 'bout?
Ahrr, get a donut! ricercar, Yo Yo Ma ...
things're strings, now. Preceded by
phenoomenoology's britches, sun-dried
Carl Orff's-liver (scratch: Karloff-sliver) of wood or glass, chrrrr!
conflates, picnicking the minute honey
feets, you sitting there, why the kudzu plotzes:
where's my sad sad little sex now? Of travel between
two mud horns, the one actinic, the other
single-curd rhinoceros.

6.
Check out this 'I am not had'
no chance, bituminous thrall
I there had, veinous redux
beyond, simple fact of face others:
acrid belts of thought: father
words. Lime. Potash. 'Fr. Abel Sod'
includes a clex B-yond a knotted
coathanger, nothing the nothing
beetles carry, dare the nest, our 'Craw
Tiny' has not grown up right:
he ended, keeps ending. So you
mown emeralds beacon, weaken-
ing. Clove, he folds cardamom
into, taffy tombeaux of bolo, plop!

7.
Whud? Thut! the blind
leading the 4x blind; 4x, no
indeed, what've you be reading ab-
lost in languages, forced
through 'Forrest O'Slim' his lighted uprights
bitey-wite into moorish plots of blood-erring. Gaia-
side walks, dark spaces beneath werehoose rouves,
things piled, and sparse brown weeds?
Whad, Vlad? Whut? Regarding the tipped-up:
its all, only a plane-reflection of what water-
laugh strings of attar 'gnited until polyps gutter,
lost, father, lost
daring the columns, brother up up and very
match away, up the mudstick mast, slackwater crossed

8.
Devanagari, box choirs
asymptote to "I love you" is
styptic, is it
not? or, the humid glance dyes that chrome rebus
smalt. Tacked like a
Buxtehude-o lime sprat, a live plug-gag
to the Feen-A-Mint world, laughter
off one pax edge of Corfu, cuprous
and determined, is blazon's
blossoms, eerie seers bewreath the floor, a-glo
star up crawlt wires, lower
out on splines that 'Peter Butter' bleed
and bed tipped, and is every One of Them
another Us?

9.
Ripped script: Tamil chamomile
apt as wheeling gold goal. Sanskrit
kite, lost languages. Lozenge of thy dialect
is, certes, an altered calculus per
sod, at astral, plan it: at it, to Altair! to
Bootes his Arcturus plus.
Hut what's the king of things
and his trapped art-trilobite? but
a rune Ind palate, blonde
and proto: 'Tripitaka, the Trained Saurian'
playing with a dervish fish? Heart list.
Mud list. Splash list. Fork list.
In minor ghee the clangor lifts its tents
who told the blood its platelets were but rents.

10.
Amid amen, um ... talc whelk
balk, milk, catafalque ilk.
He must've, mustard plotz!
Silt's welts, felt veldt. 'Samsara
de Kooning,' owned viral Rothko, who
knows art? to go, get it
trine. It must, mast go and blistered
fast: who would? wouldn't? didn't? have
cronies galore. I had it, hid it, didn't
we? go there reddened emboldened
with tadpole, a
Tree!
Fold it all down
fill the last mine's space, fast, faster.

11.
He swaved, savant, foul fourteeners
rocking the metal gridwork, tacks
night rachets in place, safety, is it sin
to tavern and understand?
Or can you, a book replaced, an appetite
of rocks for 'Caleb' or 'Aunt Anise' measures: who?
Your pal's a patient knob,
your step to the spark someone threw beneath your shoe,
your milk cream men patterned, grand and whole,
your grossest pip of thought
bangs me forward. Lick, Chac-Mool
afloat beyond the patterned rim
con, rifled midriffs, it's a sour
cheer thigh samples peer, belay.

12.
Blinking. Clotted, slatted, blinking. Drinking.
Blast Farnese. Little stars
"outside of the image" smelt
zizzing, azif 'Amen-Hotep McGillicuddy' met
'Josiah "The Grape of Quarks" Bezelius' in
a Kevlar shmoo-bag: w/
mints, pickle relish, Diamond Sutra,
the Fool blinking in his slotted view.
Sick as the doft rebus,
nodes whap transcendant fury, Furies?
leaping to sleeping on a cobalt ledge.
The swamp inch, ballpeen: beetles
or 'Coriander Sue' prize, isn't "tacky"
the style my couzink wants, teeming sweetly?

13.
OM, that's brilliant, kin to carotid
is in, isinglass, what's that? thighs falls
winter in my winter,
heart ur my head's mistake, surely,
or not, that who I who have desires,
naaaaah ... I'm worse than unnecessary, head
in hands, my themed twist father
falls from orchestral cake vassal tassels
in the darxt hump backyards dark mothed dark, patterns.
A phobic camphor drydocks 'Dr. James Town,'
nacreous yet osseous (as a wax six
occurred to me -- is that enough?),
drunk Doctor puncht oud blood seedies
from your thumb which now frosts closed, this is closed.

14.
A virus is an even crystal life
and has no problems:
it doesn't have to be a saint which I,
somehow, have to do.
No one askes me how to do that.
No one tolde me how, or now to do that. Here I am,
doing it. Or so I thynke. But ordinary
behavior has a virus in it: perhaps
its someone else's problem, 'Saint Hood
Orson' one else's method. "Keep
drawing blood, not hair."
Sometimes it all dries up
Sometimes my hands dry off, and crystallizes
is as living as it gets.

15.
Keep drawing pubicly with an orange sword:
'Noh Wun' will understand
it's OK. One who died a sleep off his bean feet
is back. He's here to stave!
Off time ... keep frying X-tracks
to the striped-hard Vathek, mister
heart it's seconds late and I, awake and hating,
sow again - it's OK. I am a hake and slating.
Is there room for a meer mention of Glass Wax?
Lean down, breathe a window
in the winter window. Keep leaning, downing,
leaning, downing - stop breathing, Pops -
until the matters mutter to stops:
Sword Dad, Orange Wax, Glass Crush.

16.
Trachea, tract of dire zeros, hour
of dim (dime? time?) light in my parents' room
at swallowed hall's end, huh, sh!
art is fissile, isn't it? sh!
What did you try to do for an hour, any hour,
huh? sh! fixed slats
between us and the missile wistful light
make a slickness, or two,
and a slickness ain't a thickness, isn't
night transmits, dearie? poorly
worn through years,
I submit eyes' Sanskrit zeroes, he knows
since after all I'm just any other hero's
and, Mom and Dad will die.

17.
'Klein' fields his iz-matic X is
was, anyway, dramatic: sun open, clonk,
close, tour fields, yep, here's freedom.
It's an open think. Onyx.
No matter where you loop, I follows
prism's attic in a wine-bossed west,
modest, O, conic feel
mine panic at the X's mouth.
The sink is hoping: so am O,
the fizzing cloak
isn't opening automatic, gnomic, vatic
but pretend, swallow his M-theory
tonic. Musts and gists, friend 'Klein' ends
in pines and picnic: ox is at it, unk.

18.
Perd

... an Nature's tinliest plarbticle, is!
Perd! 'Pokey the Mallow-Roast Ribosome,'
walking long tax due to clokey, but thet's Perd,
"cum"s out of weststorm locums whipth a pinkin'
lamp-on-a-wand, o Chinee leading
a tower cyclonophagous wagon, if-so-then why
do muh inner spinthariscope glo so wild? Why
do ah then strak delumptious pinky-purpley-to-
chill-blue 'n' iced-white lites up a straw alongside my Cheapies? I
was doing rescorch on it
... when I died, in ye Crax Minorum o' veriest 'Serutan,'
lying in the highest tear
after, Ollie still can't
comple X.

19.
My O mica, my my biotite
facts: rocks, rich eros to my eyes
only aesthetic Styx
only pretty bright things.
And lights! the stutters up so and so down
through ' ''s yoniverse
the bees' cause, the eightfold aleph,
the 'Mr. Dybbuk' truck passing, the sum door. Color. Wind 'n color
pax past 'n' unter quarks.
Sleep white fold, hymn a globing
blue blews the blood
too, I'm become mankind because
a life sprent
watch my arms encircelled twinkles.