Thich Quang Duc

Light, clarity, avocado
ice cream in the morning.
Eleison or satyr or
something.
Her body gives me eyegasms,
her dulcimer eargasms,
her oblivion is an onion etc.
The poet will now take a moment
to impress the extent of his research
in this area.
The tangle-headed tangents.
The tangerines.
So more re: the haunted towel
later!
The fumes from her dress etc.
As Henri Hoover
stalks the lobby of the Louvre,
collecting
onyx sighs,
pearlescent tears.
The scurf of the centuries
conflagrante.
This ghost doesn't even really
know where it's going.
I wear my research lightly.