Squirter

Squiggling lines on an edge of a paper,
somehow the shape of the River Thames is in my mind;
I had a bowl of rice for supper.

Rotational movement of my hand, up and down,
the lines seem spurting endlessly.

Going out of the edge of the paper,
dancing off the cliff,
flip-flopping,
blind boxing against numbness,
sudden burst of flood from the squirter,
there goes the whimsical singing,
I hear from the high anus.

Canvas that forms a curtain of aurora,
Aurora that hoovers the dusty stars,
Stars that sprinkle into my eyes,
Eyes that freezes the fireworks,
Fireworks that give colors to the Emerald City,
Eternal ejaculation of colors flourishes out from the city,
Ecstashit of Saint Teresia is revealed from the surface.

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