After Péret

My ticker corsage
withering
so
piteously
in a scraggly rotunda
whispering
to
a
mummified mandrill whelped by a matinee
is vexed with your lizard
whose ankles are similar to
two
steeples
no one will
ever dive off
your lizard which is perhaps
a mitre
coiled like a secret
epicentre
just like the dartboard trousers
I striate
in my toucan shift
beside a greenhouse dreamier
than a bizarrely painted
cruiser
resembling the liquefaction of an isoceles
nostril
that would be a satellited
spiral
more doleful than a maze in a trenchcoat
that
rivers
to
efface
you
like a sundown virus
and so ornate it seems a Lemurian legend
becoming luminous
again
so celestial it seems a sheath-
taloned bookworm
slaloming
among skyscrapers
in which you
signify
no more than a flick-knife’s flicker
in a paper mausoleum
than a jaywalker
on a trampoliney steppe
than a hacksaw
in a rucksack of mackerel