it's never the right kind of miracle rotary-dialing the milky way which we licked from its first blade to the bony slat of my fortieth eyeball . "Wait a minute," belched the infant hippy. "rotten woods box trotting cankers lobbing thick beer-bread caveward." . radar spotted 6 chimneys fumbling close-captioned license plates stolen by stylish sorrels delivered to your nose: Easter vapors gadding tight in their sneakers and repelling air pellets . once this week the cash register's paunch plucked splinters off Huckleberry Finn. later today I expect to stain Seattle. dripping hundreds flop wet strata of cheap leather on my desk pomposinating wireless fantasies, eventually incriminating perfect barcodes. jam, clink, wind, pop, swim, jungle. jackhammers smooth Carl Sagan's hairy Mercedes -- this way the woman from next year will more easily singe her infant's cuticles. I will pour tan Valvoline under the trumpets in my face -- coaxing from satan a taco platter to the grassy tennis courts three blocks from my barricaded pencil of jazz gum tiny radish wendy point hacksaw hump smashed zone 14 d r a f t nubile tunguska hundreds of poppies gunking over with Jiffy paraded the capital grounds demanding stucco ice cream before sunday, oily hops and tongue kisses from each flinched to recognize of the poorest drains. biochemical glyoxylate puns -- inches to howard's puppy reminded us -- practice let's not coin too many busts. cubicle.