stiletto crow - poetry show

High Tea

So, Sesame Street, return of the silk vessel. Big.
Out, damned spot! Out, ice age!
Ijsvogels book of French France, zweet in de namiddag.
Ijsvogels knikken hun hoofden op de muziek. High tea.
Buiten bereik van ratten. Miniscule goddelijke koekjes.

There is no place for humorous incidents or love affairs.
This is no place, no time. This is pure hop, bursting
with the wild, rich with scattered child.

So almond-shaped were her eyes that she became
an object of worship.
Ontsnappen op haar kleine tepels? Zomer en sla. Onnozel.
Zodra de Ijsvogels smelten wordt massa toegevoegd
aan schilderijen van de oceanen van bier.

There is no place for humorous affairs or love incidence.
There is place and there are times. This is purified hop, bursting
with wilderness, rich with rooted child.

Highest tea priestess, suburban wizardry of rural witches.
Bigger birds. Ijsvogels, helicopters, burned gebeuren. Whose hilly bourne?
Een multi-muziek van de middeleeuwen, opgediend
op gele borden, met Darjeeling en
miniscule goddelijke koekjes.

High Tea met dappere ijsvogels en Persian pickles.