Skip-thrown on top
Of the Ocean of Literature,
That I can imagine,
I become the medium through which I move and so
I turn into a clot of spit
A mouthful of bacteria
A wet collection of the germs
Of all the girls whom I have kissed.

Witness this! Witness this!
I press my lips to the tips
Of my finger pads and impress
My infectious love of nouns and verbs
With a purposeful caress to the middle of
The skull which protects the active fat-solution
Of your chemical intellect, hidden behind
Your blessed forehead.

I worship this! I worship this!
The unfolding list of poems
Your hard-steel chisel
Has flaked off the surface
Of my once stoned heart.
It has quarried a vulgar gem.

This tool which you have used,
Hammered in relentless beats,
Resurrects both blood and heat
Of the core feldspar and quartz fleshed care.

interesting piece...welcome...