And the award for the Fanciful Cadaver goes to

i.

The best title; the best of the best;

The pick of the bunch in the box

Beknighted Big Bulwark

’gainst gaslit death,

With a jig and a jog.

‘Jog on’ jibes the quivering lips

In the lightless and lifeless

Eternity of sand. All red, all sound

Absorbed down to the maw

Of a moor that’s roped to a rock

With a fingerprinting frappuccino

Emblemized inside.

A figure stands with a kitchen knife

And a fork and a face

And a tooth with a gleam and a dream;

With quivering flesh and a wavering chest

With who knows what’s inside.

They smile and a union

Strikes salted on the air;

Strikes softly in the gut,

With a cut and no care.

ii.

The fennel in the kennel for the cables

Of my mind taste sweet as the sweat

Of the crown to the keeper. Think

Jewels big as organs, oranges

Like grapes, cities big as apples

And words the size of maps.

Map minutes to the wires

That run inside this skull; skill

Difference doesn’t cut it - big

Biscuits are no saws.

Now dance for me my children,

Now dance for me my boils,

For bulbous are your offspring

And spoiled.

Now prance for me my stardoms,

And beat upon my tum,

For the darking of the soils

Is a lightening embracer,

But the rum from behind my teeth

Can be your eternal home.