Dead elephant flesh undrawn creaseless under ice
Buried beneath Iveagh gardens
Given fatal acid doses by jolly dopers, into-situation-ropers, haunting campuses with flyers
Discordian opus printed at Jim Garrison’s HQ; when the president’s head blew that guy flew a few feet off the ground making his view askew
He had seeds and gardened them, he thought he could be unguarded and air his theories and their targets
Gardening is for Kew, kid, they published rebuttals, made him look a nutter and arted spectacle.
Her unblinking eyes like rainbow-fluted nebulas held on snooker balls moistened lachrymose at death’s approach
I wouldn’t use the pool just now, Lucy’s helping the dolphin edge
That whole stretch of water is a no-go zone, dolphins are manlike
They’ll turn calm sea to foam for want of a bone, never phone ahead just full speed ahead
Lily’s with his notepad tripping, shading a fin he’s sketched
He thinks with time they might speak, his specimens
What pup science calls sin he calls experimentation, furtherment
When mankind ascends starward and encounters spacemen, how will it speak to space’s denizens
Just a little further, love, he says to Lucy, her lubed glove beneath the water refracting to an impossible right angle.
Alchemisland 
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