An Eye Takes a Leisurely Trek Through an Abstract Jungle and Finds Events Important to Survival

See the small flags conversing quickly with the royal attendants
amidst the sounds of wild dogs, beyond the donkey adorned with the European blankets
posing motionlessly near that sleek twilight vase of hooded flowers bending over in the wind,
arranged to resemble a happy face ironically woven into the fabric of ragged, loose women
sentenced to serve in the jails of worn-out automobiles
behind Venetian blinds, wedged tightly in difficult positions
and issuing inharmonious sounds 
as the lower jawbone drags across the slats,
leaving skin, eyeballs, and a yellow disease of envy
in circular slime-trails of gray ooze that progress nowhere.

As for myself, I resent all the flashy countenances. 
Let us obtain a position of high acclaim
and throw pieces of hard candy bluejays down
that will ricochet through the streets alive with rhythms
under the watchful guard of the twilled trousers that make rugged comments
ridiculing visitors with gelatinous mindframes
that spread like jellied sea mammals afflicted with muscular twitches
that are in danger of becoming dried strips of meat in a ready-mix soup
of poorly-tailored sleeveless jackets made from a knitted cloth
that shoots out of the Christian religion in jet-propelled streams
of hot gases that span great distances.

If we endeavor to throw this heavy cargo overboard
along with the descendants of the ancient peoples,
we will only find them all washed up onto the landing pier
with small gems and beaded ornaments
embedded in the triangular sails of their dancing ships
framed in slight jerking motions

and fitted together with the ringing sounds of their frivolity.

Prying open the war chest of their chauvinism, let us peer in--
look-- a supernatural two-wheeled Asian carriage
pulled by two men;
the person or thing reclining inside is nervous in a detestible way,
quite a piece of work--
maneuvering for advantage
while joking and full of fun
before changing its direction suddenly
and ejecting the paying members of its many clubs.

This is the place where things
such as It and we collide
upon the resonating parallel timbers
that support the planks of our foolish merriment.
Such proceedings are recorded by newspapers
fighting with lances on horseback

resulting in a fleshy, hanging horror show
reckless riding in a headlong fashion through legal spheres
whizzing past the judgments of people too careful in thought,
governed by administrators
that are bloated with liquids designed to be relentlessly irresistible
and that can do certain tricks with coin-operated balls
cut into strips
that are often confused with very large springs
which are worn for work
and for leisurely treks in the dense forests of the tropics,
or while attending junior colleges
lightly landscaped with small evergreens sprouting berry-like cones
served in a thick milk
that is then laced with a tasteless and colorless addiction for authority
and sprinkled with a rainbow of various philosophies of law.

The local magistrate is free from blame-
his tongue is justifiably made up of burlap
which swings from side to side,
spreading like cabbage leaves over bits of colored glass
embedded in the white clay used to make porcelain bunnies
designed to hold the silken fibers
of the curly-black fur of Asian lambs
trained in the art of Grasshopper Kung-Fu.
The bunnies double as musical instruments
that are chopped into finely-ground pieces
and then reformed into a peculiar conformity,
like a souvenir in a small container of thick sauce
usually fed to European falcons already fat on grains, seeds,
and the brown seaweed of knowledge-
the kind with the adjustable parchment top.

Bringing all of this into focus and understanding
requires the input of data from several uneven rows of keyboards

dressed in a mood and style similar to microfiber Khaki.
As for the meddlesome onlookers from the collective farms,
they spend their days complaining about the young goats
that kick footballs with such a force
as to rip the leather off their skins,
spoiling the pleasures of the many men from Northern Scotland.
Let us kindly and warmly set them on fire,
adding to the mixture bits of wood and pine needles
curling and twisting as they caress with their lips in an affectionate greeting
the kitchen utensils that have a special ability
to bag and carry supplies between their thighs when their breeches fall below their knees.
Now strike in a pounding noisy rhythm on the tiny bongos of their tangled cunning,
which is the equivalent of marsupials eating kumquats dotted with raisins,
according to Jewish dietary laws on a Roman holiday,
and read the laboratory labels still attached to the vulva
and on other secret places of scientific study.

I’d tear jaggedly at this topic a while longer
but I have nothing more of interest to say.
I believe that I am finally overcome with a fancy despair,
and I shall join the dull male servants attending the endless ball game in the sky,
where I will dip my cuplike chocolate spoon
into the center of the well-refined creme-filled finger-shaped sponge cakes
that I purchased with my only remaining credit.
I'll enjoy it with the free bitter beverage

aged for several months in the shallow pools of lager beer

as I wave my souvenir flags and hope my team wins.
With my life now flickered, crippled, and gone,
bid me adieu as I hurtle myself into that picturesque scene of planted lawns 
amid the surrounding events considered important to survival.