repatriated
by grey strata of subways—
terminal postcard
rotting in ozone
chrysalis—sun stuttering
in all-night purple
cafeterias—
smell of cobra jazz covered
in iron heart of
goof ball sleep—rasp of
green slimy iridescent
shit rubbing on flesh
somewhere in the cold
mouth of heavy knife time—boy
torch moving, rusty
lamp, tongue terms—round disk
of morphine, script gristle in
rooming house bathtub—
shrinking bread over
lagoon of old saliva—
village of built racks
Tags: cut-up, haiku, poetry, Soft Machine, William S. Burroughs
The Book of Haiku Revelation 