Chronicles in Fevered Dreams and a Death

In an unlevened hour
singing of birches and breadcrumbs
cloudy eyed Murky Mullen preyed on lamb's feet and wool fleece
unthinking and starcrossed
fanned with frustration in heat and hot sweat
parted of bliss and curled into a nest heavy set
and pancaked 'tween eyes ears nose mouth and tooth
grinding crunch and munch sunken
pirate's treasure trodden neath water and wave
uncared of by murky or mullen or moore,
but scared of by more and moer and moore.
Who's to say,
flunked out fastened
to the dawning of a grey whale's last day
charged by an ember of steel stricken raw
in the air, water grumbling on top
and then in darkness rendered in mincemeat
go go go
childish and brash coming swift at the eye
chopped flesh, ruined jelly in a mucky muck pyle
murky mullen murky mullen in a drop of red dye
pulling fast from the flesh
lingers in lightime carried on wings
to his jellical home with his hot jellied things
drink it up and around to the corner
we'll see
where the autumn air dies and refuses to breath
into nose mouth and skin stirred round soft into bells
and a paisly stripe pattern pulls at scales from the south
windy do windy don't
sing the song of m. mullen
and the rouge put on softly aching throbbing from a bludgeon
put into the fire, to soothe and then say
the grey whale's a grate whale
to have on this day.