Ben Doyle

The Great Fig

(Museum Natural History/Glass Plants)

Behold the ancient elastic community,
motion detectors stunned by the sanitary
frantics of the touch addicts.

Behold the obviously sexy mask classic,
feathery pitch locked with small bugs, lipstick
or water clumped from soft rock.

I, I have so many many, I have
so many with me: earlike ovary
of the great fig; umbrella skeleton.

Behold the forest pig & sea cow conspiring
in the shallows, shaded by the scoliotic woods.
They conspire for me. They’re disgusting.

The crew team cannot hear me above their rowboat.
they are so dry. All astride their stuttering sea horse.

O to be so very very, to be so very missing
but not to be missed from the terrible story
of which kid got lost in the scoliotic woods.

to be just half-crazy: all, all adornment, all spiral, or square.
behold the Bent-Hearted-Bitch of the Itchy Wharf,
her pleasant stank. She must increase herself.
behold the man from the town, freshly bastarded.

The town or the man? We must increase himself.
A flower is blown. Behold this brown-blown flower.
Drop it not. Host no decrease, into many shining pieces.

Behold, I must increase myself. Behold the Pittsburgh
of the human body through the Venus-eyetrap,
the pond of Visine and the glass lake I spit where
we shall live once and ere in your glass palm steaming.

© 2005 Electronic Poetry Review