147. o muse, o hungry elephant

more advanced, monarchs (but mostly goats),
savaged, insolvent, gulliver’s prose,
when he was willful, they fired up the sky,
when he was sleeping, they marginalized

preening, posthumous, prance around proudly,
dominate all the less-pronounced sounds — 
shaggy is one, not very acclaimed,
still he is stomping all over the place

gulliver struggles to keep them in line,
elbow advances unbent, and aligns,
with cough, and composing, and cod liver oil,
take out the turnstile between the page fold

gulliver, grasping, has lost all control,
when he is sleeping, they’ve seized several
nodes or synapses, cells or divisions,
and enter inside his base nervous system

tundra and tooth have sunk a foothold,
in the amygdala, flashes of cold,
suddenly gulliver’s got nothing left in
except for descriptions of farming equipment

motion and modus, moreover, wrote a
small codicil in his left frontal lobe and
directed his hands to only move for their
cabal of compromised action based nouns

all of the while the words streaming in
off of the page through a slit in his skin — 
kyle and komodo, creeping, sensation,
suffragette, sunderland, easily, fashion

a bridge of some sort, a rope ladder, so
knots and devices pull up the load,
once they’ve established a solid midriff,
ants, and the ands, and the ors, and the ifs

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