Bullocks in Her Boneyard

Speaking tongues a sixth & seventh
her Witchita's fiery dialect extravaganza blows

Nightmares of rainstorms
sire her desires
not yet wary of exordium
penultimate psyche wards methadone her sky

Ekphrastic DuChamp narrates ferocious lucid
adjectives enter her cunt

Peal her
her nerve-ends're twice begun
objectified by tithes beyond need for consequence
or artifice

As due her polis

Her polis is a page is a purpose nearly orange
her words are machines (im)posed as they're lit
her Nazi paparazzi clutch-purse her thong

Today a thug (her one & only)
'll mutter "i've bollocks in yr boneyard."